


前前前世(Zen Zen Zense)

by hiikigane



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gellert Grindelwald Never Impersonated Percival Graves, I don't know what I'm doing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Burn, at least i think it's slowburn, body swapping, rating may change later idk, so there's room for the weird shit i've got planned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-22 11:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11966133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiikigane/pseuds/hiikigane
Summary: Credence starts dreaming that he's a high-ranking government official in a world whose very existence he has always been told is wrong, while Graves starts dreaming that he's a member of a group of people who want to wipe out wizards. But is it really a dream when they wake up with no memory of having done things people around them say they did? Or are they actually swapping bodies with the other person? Is it possible to bridge the gap between two very disparate worlds, and what happens when the person you've been swapping with turns out to be the cause of the destruction and trouble that has been plaguing your department?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the idea of intermittent body-swapping, characters writing notes to each other and slowly falling in love introduced in [Your Name/Kimi no Na Wa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Your_Name) (yes, that hit Makoto Shinkai movie with the super pretty art) and was like "hmm this sounds like a possible Soulmate AU but not quite--maybe i'll just run with it and see where it goes?"  
> If you've watched Kimi no Na Wa, my stuff isn't quite the same because I didn't want to get into the whole time-travelling soulmates and comets crashing into the earth thing. My writing also isn't as pretty as a Makoto Shinkai movie but please give it a try if you're interested hahaha  
> The title is from one of the songs used in the movie! Here are the links to the songs, both performed by Radwimps:  
> [Zenzenzense (Japanese version)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDSkFeMVNFs)  
> [Zenzenzense (English version)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMXK7NkyXu8)  
> i hope i haven't butchered kimi no na wa and fantastic beasts with this because i love both very much hehe

 

  _"Back in the zenzenzense till this day, been looking everywhere for you_

_Oh, I let the sound of your unfettered voice and the shedding of tears lead me this way"_

-Radwimps,  _Zenzenzense  (English version)_

 

 

          The first time it happens, Credence doesn’t realise anything is wrong, because for once, everything feels right.

         Honestly, that should have clued him in from the start. Usually, he wakes up with the scratchy blankets tangled around his legs after a restless night of tossing and turning on the thin, worn mattress, an already troubled sleep interrupted whenever he accidentally rolls over onto a newly opened wound that causes pain to shoot through his body and jolts him awake. But the mattress is soft and the blankets are plush and thick, with tiny, intricate patterns etched into them. He squints at the window, momentarily confused that it appears to be bright outside, when they are usually awake before dawn for a morning devotional and to receive their instructions for the day. Sometimes he has to be up earlier than everyone else because it’s his turn to prepare breakfast. But that isn’t what woke him up in the first place. It is a tapping sound that appears to be coming from outside the window.

         Credence receives his first surprise of the day when he tries to get up and realises that his legs are dangling off a bed, not the usual mattress laid out on the floor of what is technically his room but is in actuality little bigger than a glorified closet. He had turned thirteen by the time Ma had adopted Modesty five years ago and moved her into the room he used to share with Chastity, declaring that Credence was much too old to be sharing a room with girls. Even though it certainly wasn’t a gift and more likely stemmed from her fear of corrupting the newest addition to their family, he had gratefully accepted it and moved into the closet/room, even though that meant he would have even less opportunities to talk to Chastity. Not that Chastity had been very open to talking to him by then. She had already started to distance herself from him, worried that his unfortunate tendency to attract Ma’s anger would spill over to her. It hurts sometimes, but he can understand the desire to avoid pain if given a choice. The only thing that upsets him is the disdain that he sometimes sees in Chastity’s expression, just before she slips out of the line of fire. He can deal with Ma’s hatred—he has been dealing with the harsh words and even harsher blows all his life—but he doesn’t think he can deal with Chastity’s on top of that. So he usually tries not to look too hard at her.

         He reaches the window and is surprised to note that there are filmy white curtains over it, a luxury they can’t afford. A fuzzy shape is bobbing up and down behind them. An owl? Don’t they usually come out at night? This one appears to be holding a square-shaped object in its beak. Credence knows he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’s quite sure an owl’s usual prey of mice or squirrels don’t look like that. He slides it open and the owl flies inside, dropping the object by his feet. He has a feeling he should chase it out, but he is curious about the object, which he now sees is an envelope. The flap is held in place with a seal shaped like an eagle. Did this owl just deliver a _letter_?

        The envelope contains two pieces of parchment, and Credence turns his attention to the smaller piece with less words, even though the writing is harder to read. All it says is, _P, I need your signature. -S._ The one with significantly more words is typed out but full of terms he doesn’t understand, like _restive No-Maj population,_ _Obliviator Squad_ and _Rotation of Aurors from Low-Priority Surveillance Cases._ There are, however, two dotted lines at the bottom of the page, one of which is already filled in. He tries to make sense of the words, but the more he reads, the more confused he gets. What exactly is this supposed to be?

         A hoot causes him to jump, and he sees that the owl is perched on the wooden headboard behind the bed, which a pile of pillows is resting against. Credence instinctively surges forward, wanting to chase the owl away before it can crap on the pillows, but it stands its ground. He pauses mid-step, feeling foolish, and tentatively flaps his hands at it. The owl fixes Credence with a look that reminds him a little of Chastity in a bad mood, both irritated and exasperated. He didn’t know owls were capable of expressing such emotions. Credence spots a lamp on the bedside desk, and wonders if he should take a swing at the owl with it. It seems a bit of an over-reaction, but he and Chastity spend a lot of time chasing out wild animals that try to seek shelter in the church during winter, and this room is much too nice to be dirtied by owl droppings. He walks over to the desk, but catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging next to it and draws back in horror.

        Credence doesn’t look into mirrors much, because they are symbols of vanity and he doesn’t particularly like what he sees in the reflection anyway. But the changes between what he knows he looks like and what he currently sees are too drastic to brush off. He seems to have aged overnight. Or undergone an extremely late onset of puberty. Instead of the austere bowl cut that he has worn since he was young, his hair is now buzzed short on the sides and slicked back, though the slicked back part is slightly mussed and there are strands falling over his lined forehead.  There are fine lines by the corners of his eyes, and when he raises a hand to touch them, he notices that the skin of his hands are callused, but devoid of the silvery, raised scars from older beatings and still-bleeding cuts that haven’t had time to heal. His shoulders are broad and covered in a pair of pajamas that look too luxurious to be his own. What has happened to him?

         The owl gives another hoot. Flustered by the reflection of the stranger in the mirror, Credence forgets about using the lamp and tries to chase it away with his hands. But instead of flying away, it spreads its wings and pecks him hard. “Ow!”

        He withdraws the hand the owl had attacked. The owl cocks its head at his other hand, and Credence realises he is still clutching the pieces of parchment. What is he supposed to do with it? The owl flaps a wing at the piece of paper with the funny words, and he swears it is pointing at the empty dotted line. Is the owl trying to instruct him to sign it? But there is no pen in sight. There does seem to be a bottle of ink resting on the bedside desk, with a quill next to it. He dips the quill into the bottle of ink and scrawls something on the piece of paper. As soon as he is done, the owl picks up the parchment with its beak and flies out of the window. This _has_ to be a dream. Owls are smart, but not smart enough to give humans instructions and wait for them to carry them out.

         Credence looks at the other piece of paper the owl hasn’t taken with it. It is probably safe to assume that he is P, since the owl had wanted his signature. But his name doesn’t start with a P. So why is he being called P?

        He stumbles out of the room in a daze, and is greeted by an even more opulent living room. High ceiling, panelled walls, a fireplace with flames cheerfully crackling inside it. There are portraits hanging on the walls, and the people in them are _moving_. Credence wonders if he’s hallucinating, when one of the portraits, an old woman with an ear-trumpet, leans down and yells at him, “Late today, are we, Percy? You’re usually out of the house before I’m awake!”

       Credence practically jumps to the ceiling. The portraits don’t just move, they talk too. Now he knows this is definitely a dream. He backs away from the portrait, over to the fireplace, which suddenly flares green. The head of a woman wearing a towering turban appears in it, and a sharp voice snaps, “Percival Graves, what in Merlin’s name is wrong with you today?”

* * *

          “Why are you blinking like that? Do you have something in your eye?” The portrait woman surveys Credence with interest.

         The head in the fireplace is still talking. “I don’t have time for jokes, Percy. There’s pressure coming at me from all sides. The Obliviators want a pay rise because they’ve been working overtime to wipe memories of the No-Maj caught in the blasts and to repair the damage. Your Auror team is stretched to breaking point and you promised me you’d reassign some people to this case because if we don’t resolve it soon, we can forget about another term in office, but you haven’t signed the approval document. And when you finally sign it, I get this ridiculous signature that’s completely different from your usual one. Have you forgotten that the signatures we used when taking our oaths are the ones that we have to use on all official documents? There’s a charm on the original paper, a watered-down version of the Unbreakable Vow, so that our signatures have a binding quality. That’s why we need to be consistent. You’re far too old to be changing signatures like a schoolboy. And the one you gave me looks like an eight-year-old’s first attempt at cursive.”

           None of the words register with Credence, because he still can’t get over the fact that there is a _head_ in the _fireplace._ And it doesn’t seem to be bothered by the flames or the heat, it just keeps rambling at him.

           “Maybe he’s been hit by a Confundus Charm,” The portrait woman offers. “He was always getting into fights at school, wasn’t he, Sera?”

          “More times than I care to remember, Mal,” The head in the fireplace replies, rolling her eyes. “His opponents usually came out worse than him, though. If he’s mildly Confunded, I’d hate to see what the other guy looks like.”

           “I’m not Confuddled,” Credence says in a small voice. To his surprise, it sounds deeper and more authoritative than his own, as though this person is used to speaking at a louder volume.

           “If you’re not Confunded or coming down with an illness that prevents you from writing, I would appreciate a proper signature,” the head in the fireplace says primly. “I’ll send you another copy of the document. You do remember how to hold a quill, right?”

             Credence blinks mutely at her. The head sighs. “I’ll send over another document you’ve signed off on in the past. The penmanship doesn’t matter as much as the consistency. I suspect it’s a Confundus Charm, but it wasn’t very well done. Can’t tell who could have put one on you, though. Maybe it was one of your Aurors. I sometimes wonder if Goldstein still bears a grudge against you for what happened.”

           The name “Goldstein” provides an anchor of familiarity amidst the sea of confusing words. Credence doesn’t know why it sounds familiar to him—he doesn’t know the names of the orphans that come by their soup kitchen and their family keeps socialising to a bare minimum, but he feels like he has heard it somewhere before. And it gives him a sense of comfort instead of making him feel tense and on edge, which is how he feels almost all the time at home. He wonders why Goldstein bears a grudge against him.

          “Maybe you should take the day off,” The portrait woman suggests. “Sign the things Sera needs, then stay home and brew something up. There are potions that can speed up the recovery process from a Confundus Charm, aren’t there, Art?” She yells this last sentence at another portrait, a man who appears to be stirring a cauldron. The image is so much like the pictures of witches Ma used to show him and Chastity when they were younger, except this person is male, that Credence forgets how to breathe for a few seconds.

          “Yeah,” The male witch grunts. He stabs at the flames with a stick, and they leap higher. “But Percy has never been good at Potions, has he? He was always bad at things that required patience and precision.”

           “Now, Art,” The portrait woman says reproachfully. “He’s the Director of Magical Security. He must have _some_ patience to have worked his way up that high.”

           “Or he’s just plain pigheaded,” The male witch—Art—snorts. “ _Wampuses._ ”

           The head in the fireplace laughs, and Credence spins back to face her. “I forgot how fun your family can be, Percy. Rest up. I’ll send you the documents and keep an eye on Goldstein to make sure she’s not planning anything behind your back. Try to get better by tomorrow, okay? We can’t afford to have everyone indisposed during a critical time like this.” She disappears abruptly, and the flames turn back to red.

           “Sera’s such a sweet girl,” The portrait woman says. “I don’t understand why you two never became more than friends.”

           “A little too power-hungry, if you ask me,” Art sniffs. “She was always going on about politics, even when she and Percy were in school. Back in my day, girls were content to support their husbands’ political ambitions from behind the scenes instead of thrusting their way to the forefront.”

         The portrait woman puffs herself up. “Art, you misogynistic pig! Why should girls play a supporting role if they’re capable of doing so much more? Sera outranks Percy, you know! She’s the President!”

           “And maybe that’s why Percy never got together with her! Why would he want to live in the shadow of his wife? Isn’t that right, Percy?” Art looks expectantly at Credence.

           Credence, who has barely been keeping up with this conversation, jumps and cowers a little at the attention. Fortunately, there is a tapping sound from the window and he rushes towards it, leaving the two portraits to bicker. The same owl flies into the room with another envelope in its beak. Credence pulls it open to find two pieces of parchment full of complicated words. The only difference he can spot immediately is that one bears two signatures and the other only has one. This must be the letter he needs to sign again. But there are no writing utensils in sight here, so he heads back to the room where he knows he’ll find a quill and ink. The owl flaps behind him, and over the beating of its wings, he hears the portrait woman—Mal? — call out, “Why don’t you just Summon a quill?” and Art reply, “Maybe he really is Confunded.”

          Back in the room, Credence hunches over the bedside desk, eyes flicking between the two pieces of parchment. He traces the shape of the signature, still confused by the conversation that had occurred outside, but aware that it has something to do with how his earlier signature was wrong. When he thinks he might be able to replicate the signature satisfactorily, he picks up the quill and carefully signs on the empty line. He is prepared for it, but still surprised when the owl picks up the parchment with its beak and flies out of the room window. Credence sets the quill back into its holder, studying the bedside desk, which he notices has a small drawer. Even though he knows it’s wrong to snoop around, especially since he doesn’t seem to be in his own body, he thinks it should be fine if it’s a dream. So he pulls it open and finds a long, thin stick. It is black with a silver head and a thin band of silver near the end. When he cautiously pulls it out, it lets out a sound like a gunshot and he drops it in fright. There is something oddly familiar about the stick, but he only makes the connection when he is backing towards the door and hears Art’s voice. Art is a witch who uses a stick and brews sinister-looking potions. This person whose body he’s in, Percy, has a stick in his drawer. When put together with all the bizarre things he has encountered—oddly intelligent owls, talking portraits, talking heads that appear in green fires—there is only one conclusion to draw.

_I’m dreaming that I’m a witch._

 


	2. Chapter 2

           Percival wakes up with a start at the sound of tapping. He is used to falling asleep in unfamiliar locations and being jolted awake by the smallest crack of a twig, but even after the disoriented feeling clears, he still can’t remember where he is. The place is so dark he can only make out the indistinct outline of a door. He reaches for the drawer set into his bedside desk, wanting to grab his wand and cast a spell, but after a few seconds of fruitless pawing at thin air, realises that he’s not in his room after all. He can’t feel his wand on his body either. This is very, very bad. Has he been captured, knocked unconscious and stripped of his wand? But why haven’t they restrained him? Anybody with half a functioning brain would know to cast Incarcerous or some form of restraining spell, even on an unconscious captive. Wizards may be overly reliant on magic, but Auror training has a section devoted to physical combat tactics for a reason. When all else fails, brute force is the only way to go. If they’ve left his hands free, he still stands a fighting chance.

          The tapping grows more insistent, and Percival is wondering if it’s a trap, if whoever has captured him is trying to trick him into opening the door before setting half-a-dozen armed minions on him, when it swings open to reveal a little girl. This is so different from the image of muscled thugs his mind has conjured up that he just stares at her, confused. She walks up to him and rests a small hand on his arm. “We need to go.”

           “Go where?” To Percival’s surprise, he sounds different. Meeker. Is he modulating his voice because he doesn’t want to scare the little girl? Where did she come from, anyway? He doesn’t have many friends, and those that he considers friends are (thankfully) child-free, so he has never had to deal with tantrums and bouts of accidental magic that sets important government documents on fire. That is all he knows about children, since it’s not like his job puts him in close contact with them.

           “Morning devotion session, then breakfast. Remember?” She laces her fingers through his and tugs at his hand. “I already washed up, so you can use the bathroom. Chastity’s preparing breakfast today. Hurry. Don’t make Ma mad.”

             _Devotion? Chastity?_ Percival is confused, but he pushes himself to his feet, noting that his captors have been considerate enough to give him a mattress. Pain lances through his back as he stretches, and he writes that off as a result of having spent the night on a mattress instead of a proper bed, but a flash of sympathy crosses the little girl’s face when she sees him wince. She seems to be unusually sensitive to an old man’s back problems, which might rule out the possibility that he has been kidnapped by a vindictive criminal. Criminals wouldn’t let their children talk to prisoners like this, and their children wouldn’t be so considerate. Unless they also have Bring Your Child to Work Day? He smiles a little at the thought, and the girl starts to look like she’s worried about his sanity. “Where are you going?”

              Percival had begun walking down the corridor, in the direction of the bathroom. “Bathroom, of course.”

              “It’s the other way.” The little girl points in the opposite direction. Of course, he’s not in his house. “Do you want to, um, take me there?”

              “What’s wrong with you today, Credence?” The little girl looks like she’s about to cry.

               _Oh no._ Percival can’t deal with crying children. “Wait, what did you call me?”

              The little girl looks up at him suspiciously. “Credence.”

              _Who’s Credence?_ is balancing on the tip of Percival’s tongue, but he has a feeling that these words will turn on the waterworks for sure, so he bites them back. “I’ll just…go, then.” He shuffles off in the direction she’s indicated.

               He is about to conjure up a toothbrush when he remembers he doesn’t have a wand. He can’t even use a cleaning charm on his teeth because of the lack of a wand. This would be annoying if he wasn’t so worried about where his wand has gone in the first place. Could this girl be part of the trap, meant to lure him into a false sense of security? Maybe he can get some information out of her. Children aren’t known for being tight-lipped. With a sigh, he uses his finger to brush his teeth, but when he finally looks into the tiny mirror hanging over the sink, he nearly bites off his finger.

               The face looking back at him is younger than his own, but the eyes have an older, haunted look that Percival has seen in himself, back when he had first come back from the war. The features are sharp and straight, like they were drawn out with a ruler, but the most different part is the hair. It looks like someone had plopped a bowl on his head and unceremoniously snipped around the edges. It’s a horrible hairstyle. Percival doesn’t consider himself a vain person, but in that moment, he wants his wand back, not to defend himself against whatever threat is lurking here, but to grow back his hair. Or to undo this weird Transfiguration that whoever captured him must have put on him. Why would they capture him and go to the trouble of Transfiguring and even cutting off his hair? Are they trying to sneak him somewhere so they need to make him unrecognisable? It’s certainly working; he barely recognises himself. Or maybe it’s Polyjuice potion, but he isn’t sure who this unfortunate soul whose skin he’s currently wearing is supposed to be.

                When he exits the bathroom, the little girl is waiting for him, joined by another girl who has to be her sister. The older girl shoves an armful of clothes at him. “Hurry up and change. We don’t have much time. I don’t want Ma to get mad so early in the morning.”

              Percival decides to follow the instructions, since he had noticed, on his way to the bathroom, that he is wearing a pair of too-tight pajamas. At least proper clothes, even if they’re probably too small like the pajamas, will make him feel less vulnerable. Everything about this place—the room he woke up in, the bathroom he just used, the pajamas he’s wearing—is too small. After he peels off the pajamas, he runs his hand down the ribs that jut out of the pale skin, wondering if his captors plan to force-feed him the potion every hour. This body seems a lot less muscular than his own, which might have been a tactical decision on his captors’ part to make it harder for him to fight back. At least the clothes are relatively normal-looking—a long-sleeved white shirt, a waistcoat, a blazer, long black trousers. The shirt collar pinches his neck and the blazer is tight around his shoulders, but at least he’s not walking around in pajamas anymore. Percival suddenly catches sight of scars on the palms of his hands as he’s looping the belt around his waist. Thin, pale and…scarred? Who is this person supposed to be, anyway?

_“Credence!”_ There is a sharp tap on the door, and Percival jumps. _“Hurry up!”_

                 Hadn’t the little girl called him Credence too? Is this the name of the person he’s been Polyjuiced into?

                As soon as he opens the door, the older girl whirls around and stalks away. The younger girl, however, takes his hand. It seems they have a good cop/bad cop routine established. Percival lets the younger one guide him down the staircase, walking behind the older girl. He finds himself in a space that he recognises as a chapel, even though religion hasn’t played a very big part in his life up till now. Wooden benches line the floor, and a woman stands behind a pulpit on the stage. The two girls murmur a greeting to her and she nods at them, but for some reason, she glares at Percival, who stares back at her, wondering if she’s the mastermind.

                 A sudden pressure on his hand makes him tear his gaze away from the woman. It is the little girl, who is quietly steering him to the bench right in front of the stage. The older girl is already seated, back straight and hands on her lap. The woman begins to speak, and the weirdest hour of Percival’s life begins.

              Percival doesn’t know much about the Bible, but apparently there are a lot of verses condemning fortune-tellers, spirit mediums and practitioners of witchcraft. He’s never been a big fan of Divination, but this woman seems to have a very strong hatred for them because “should not a people inquire of their God”? It seems weird that his captors, who have definitely used magic in order to subdue and Polyjuice him, are now speaking out against these very things.

                 The woman is going on about how all these shamans are leading people astray and how they remain hidden in plain sight today, trying to destroy all the things God has seen fit to grant to humans. The image she seems to have of these shamans and witchcraft-practitioners is amusingly inaccurate, yet interesting. She can’t be magical. Nobody who has ever sat through a Potions class would believe it’s possible to summon the Devil through a potion, though they might very well have done, considering what a demon the Potions master had been during his time at school.

              It is only when she mentions the Salem Witch Trials that Percival’s amusement starts to give way to unease. She wants to bring back this period of bloodshed and persecution, to kill all practitioners of witchcraft. The older girl is listening intently and nodding along, but the little girl, whose hand he is still holding, sits quietly, the slightest hint of a frown playing at the corners of her lips. Percival thinks that if he can just figure out the reason for this fixation on the Salem Witch Trials, he’ll have a huge piece of the puzzle, but for some reason, it evades him. He also can’t stop wondering why the person who has captured him is subjecting him to a grossly inaccurate lecture of his “sins”. Maybe it’s sexist of him (Sera would _kill_ him if she ever knew), but how did a non-magical woman manage to subdue him when he could easily overpower her by physical means alone? Even with the help of the two girls, it doesn’t seem possible.

                The woman storms off the stage on the same cloud of righteous anger that has carried her through the hour of proselytising. Percival allows the little girl to lead him to a kitchen, where the older girl is already at work, ladling out soup. Breakfast! Percival hadn’t realised how hungry he was. Even if they _are_ kidnappers, the manners that have been drilled into him from a young age won’t allow him to stand around and watch someone work. “Can I, uh, help?”

                “Bread,” The girl says shortly.

                “What?”

               The little girl lets go of his hand and reaches for four chipped plates, which bear two slices of bread each. Percival helps her carry them to the kitchen table. Even though his instincts are telling him to dig into the food, he holds back, because he’s learned that these people are extremely religious and they’ll probably want to pray before eating or something. He’s glad he does, because while they’re saying grace, he manages to take another look at the woman. Up close, he feels like he might have seen her somewhere before. But then she opens her eyes, and he quickly look back down at his food.

               After breakfast, they are handed a stack of leaflets, and the woman snaps at Percival in particular to make sure to give them all out and take care of Modesty or there’ll be trouble. Percival is bewildered—why is he being asked to babysit? And so far, the little girl seems to be the one taking care of _him_. But he keeps quiet and takes the leaflets, looking at the bold anti-witchcraft messages emblazoned on them and wondering how exactly this fits into the grand scheme of things. His gaze lands on a small section of the leaflet which states meeting times and a name. One word in particular jumps out at him and he finally realises who these people are.

_I’ve been kidnapped and Polyjuiced by a group of Scourers._

* * *

                  “Where are we going today, Credence?”

                 Percival freezes at the sound of the little girl’s voice. Out of the dim atmosphere of the church, the sunlight makes her complexion look even paler and her hair forms a blond halo around her head. She looks expectantly up at him, carrying her own share of leaflets.

                 But she’s not an angel. She’s a Scourer, a group of corrupt wizards who had blended into the No-Maj population to escape persecution after the Salem Witch Trials. MACUSA keeps tabs on them, but they haven’t posed a threat in ages, and if he recalls correctly, they’re considered a low-priority surveillance case. Who are the Aurors in charge of them, anyway? Tina was one, but after what she’d done, he’d had to remove her from the Auror Office altogether. It was a pity, but the inability to follow instructions could get one killed on missions and jeopardise the safety of many others. More crucially, she’d attacked a No-Maj. The wizarding population went out of their way to avoid the No-Maj precisely because they were outnumbered. Attacking one of them was like an open declaration of war, one they wouldn’t be able to win. They were facing enough trouble with the mysterious dark force rampaging around the city. How had Scourers managed to get their hands on Polyjuice Potion, though? Were they working together with wizards seeking to overthrow MACUSA? _Great, an attempted coup on top of everything, Sera’s going to love this…_

                  Percival had been surprised that he was being allowed to leave the place at all—he couldn’t Apparate without a wand, but he could run away, especially if his only guard was a little girl. He couldn’t do more complex spells like Memory Charms without a wand, but perhaps he could come up with a plan with the spells he could use.  He wasn’t about to use physical force on a child, not even a Scourer. By the time she reported Percival missing to her leader, he would be back in MACUSA, arranging for reinforcements from the Auror Office.

                   “Credence! Hey! I’m talking to you!”

                  Percival flicks a finger at a pebble on the sidewalk, trying to see if he can make it move. He is disappointed, but not altogether surprised, that it remains stationary. He would most likely have been Polyjuiced into a No-Maj to prevent him from casting spells. If he can’t use magic, will he have to outrun her after all? Or do they have a means of tracking him? What if he ends up leading the Scourers straight to MACUSA and goes down in history as another disgraced government official whose breach of the International Statute of Secrecy causes wizarding America to become a laughing stock again? What exactly is their plan?

                 A fist is driven into his stomach and he doubles over, more from surprise than pain. The little girl frowns at him. “Did you hit your head or something? You’re acting so weird today.”

                  “Modesty, right?”

                  “Yes.” She narrows her eyes. “I hate that name, but I can’t remember my real one. Ma refuses to tell me more about my real family.”

                  “Your real family?”

                  “Ma’s not my real mother. You _know_ this!”

                  Percival wishes he had read the file the Auror Office has on the Scourers more closely. He had devoted most of his energy to higher-priority cases, so he only remembers fragments from the reports that had flooded his desk in the aftermath of Tina’s attempt to play the hero. The New York-based group is led by a woman, probably the woman who was preaching just now. She has three children. He has met two of them, Modesty and that older girl who had been so curt with him. Where is the third one? The reports hadn’t come with photos, but that’s not the problem right now. Do the files have information about the children’s backgrounds? What about the woman’s affiliations?

              “We need to start handing out leaflets or she’ll get mad,” Modesty is saying. She is looking up at Percival with an expression that is both worried and irritated, as though Percival is being dim-witted on purpose. Which he isn’t. He needs to probe Modesty for information, and the best way to do that is to cooperate with her. She seems very hung up on handing out the leaflets they’ve been given, which makes sense, since the Scourers want to spread their message far and wide. It probably wouldn’t hurt to hand out a few, since it’s not like people seem to believe the whole witchcraft thing these days. The Scourers would be much higher up on their list of surveillance cases if people _did_ believe.

                  “Yeah, yeah, okay,” Percival mumbles. Ignoring Modesty’s wide-eyed expression, he stalks straight up to a man and forces a leaflet into the man’s hand. The man looks mildly irritated, like he wants to tell Percival off, but ends up just rolling his eyes and walking away, crumpling the leaflet as he moves.

                  “What’s with you today?” Modesty breathes.

                  “What?”

                  “You never ever force people to take the leaflets. You hardly even dare to approach them.”

                Percival wonders why Modesty is talking about him like he has a completely different personality. Wouldn’t she at least know who they’ve kidnapped, even if he doesn’t look anything like his original self?

                  “Where’s your brother?”

                  “What are you talking about?”

                  “Your brother. There are three of you, right? Who’s your mother working with? What’s she planning?”

                “ _You’re_ my brother,” Modesty says, looking even more suspicious. “Credence, this isn’t funny. I don’t know what Ma did to you last night but you’re all weird today. You need to be careful. If she gets mad at you again…”

              Has he really been Polyjuiced into the third child? Why would they do that? And why are they so scared of making her angry? Percival has so many questions, but it doesn’t seem like Modesty knows the answers to any of them. He shrugs and turns away to hand out more leaflets.

                  It isn’t until Modesty is tugging at his arm, complaining that she’s hungry, that he remembers more than an hour has passed. They are standing outside a shop selling suits, and he glances at his reflection in the glass. It still looks the same as the one he saw in the bathroom that morning, and he hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since the soup and bread. So if this isn’t Polyjuice Potion, and it’s not Transfiguration (he ruled that out after seeing his ribs in the bathroom; it’s possible to alter features but altering body size to that extent is impossible)…

_I’m stuck in the body of a Scourer child?_


	3. Chapter 3

            This is one of the longest, most detailed dreams Credence has ever had, but it’s not unpleasant at all. He wonders how his mind has managed to come up with all these details about witches, when all he has ever heard about them is the depths of their depravity. Although it’s so opulent, there is a surprising lack of personal mementos in Percy’s room that can tell Credence more about the person he’s dreaming he is. He finds himself drawn to the stick—the _wand_ , and summons the courage to pull it out again. This time it doesn’t go off, but sparks shoot out of the end, and he is entranced by them. This is exactly the sort of thing Ma would beat him bloody for, but there is an innate rightness that courses through him when he’s holding it, and he enjoys just waving it around, playing at being a witch. The curtains in Percy’s room turn pink and then red-and-white striped, and even though he hadn’t intended to do any of that, it makes him feel happy in a way that even talking to Modesty doesn’t. He tries to lift the quill into the air, but only succeeds in making it spin random circles around the table. Maybe there are words that witches need to say for spells to work? This is just a dream, nobody will fault him for wanting to find out more. He can talk to Art and Mal.

            Mal is polishing her ear-trumpet with a lacy handkerchief when Credence walks back into the living room. “Feeling better, Percy? Did you brew something up?”

            “No, but I was wondering… are there any words I can say when I wave this wand around?”

            “Good Lord, that is one strong Confundus Charm,” Art says softly. “He doesn’t remember how to cast spells, even.”

            “More than that, it’s like he doesn’t remember he’s a wizard, and had a personality transplant to boot.” Mal shakes her head. “I wonder who did this to him.”

            “It’s just a dream, isn’t it? I’m not really a wit—wizard.”

            The portraits exchange a glance. “Percy, you might need to get yourself checked by Healers. This is starting to sound like serious spell damage.”

          “I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Credence says. “I’m perfectly healthy.” This much is true. His body in this dream is firm and strong, with muscles in places that are just skin and bones on his actual body. Besides, they can’t afford to go to hospitals. “I’m not Confuddled either.” He holds up the wand he has been playing with and squints at the wand Art is holding in his portrait. “How come they look different?”

            “Every wand is different,” Mal interjects. Art looks like he’s about to say something, but Mal hisses something at him—Credence thinks it sounds like “ _just play along, he’s not right in the head_ ”—and he subsides. “They’re unique to the wizard, many different combinations of wood and core, and of course every wandmaker adds their own personal touches. Yours was always good for defensive spells and Transfiguration.”

            “What sort of defensive spells?”

            “My word, Percy, you would know more about defensive spells than me, wouldn’t you? You’re the Director of Magical Security!”

            “Could you just…give me an example of a spell? And maybe a word I can say to try it out? Please?”

           Art snorts. “Now I know something is definitely wrong with him. Percy has never said ‘please’ to me a day in his life.” To Credence, “Why don’t you try a simple Levitation Charm instead? There isn’t actually anything for you to defend yourself against here, so those spells would be a little out of place. You might blow up the house, and I don’t have another portrait to run to. The incantation is _Wingardium Leviosa,_ and you have to swish and flick your wand arm. I’m assuming you’ve forgotten that, too.”

            Credence grips the wand, looking around the room for something to use the spell on. He decides on one of the cushions on the couch. Pointing the wand at it, he whispers, “ _Wingardium Leviosa.”_

Nothing happens, not even after Art lectures him to speak louder and demonstrates the correct hand movements, nearly dropping his wand in the cauldron in the process. Feeling oddly disappointed, Credence jabs the wand at the cushion and it flies into the fireplace, where the flames immediately start to eat at it.

            “Oh my God,” he cries. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m not a wizard. I want to wake up!”

           “If that person Sera mentioned really put a Confundus Charm on him, she should go to jail,” Mal declares, sounding angry. “She’s completely messed with his head. This isn’t like Percy at all.”

           Credence wonders what Percy is like, for the portraits to be making comments like this. He also wonders why they’re talking about Percy like he’s a real person with a completely different personality, when he’s just a figment of Credence’s unusually vivid imagination. The dream is starting to lose its lustre. Only he could dream of being a wizard, conjure up all those fantastical details and fail at the most crucial part, performing proper spells. He can never tell anyone about this after he wakes up, not even Modesty.

              _I need to wake up, please let me wake up, I’ve probably slept half the day away and I’m going to be in big trouble when I wake up, I’m not a wizard I’m not a wizard I’M NOT A WIZARD_ —

* * *

 When he opens his eyes, he is back on the mattress in his room. Credence exhales in relief. After he had set the cushion on fire, he had tried all sorts of methods to wake up—pinching himself, slapping his cheeks, even kneeling on the floor in hopes that the discomfort would finally jolt him awake, but all he had gotten were concerned remarks from Mal and Art about how he really should see a Healer. In the end, he had resorted to wandering around the house, studiously avoiding the living room, and spending one of the most relaxed days he could remember in a long while in Percy’s study. There were shelves upon shelves of books on all sorts of fascinating topics, and since he has only been allowed to read the Bible before, he had spent the rest of the day just curled up on a chair in the study flipping through random books. Most of them were full of words, but a few had moving pictures, just like Mal and Art’s portraits. The last he remembered, he had been looking through a travel magazine. It had been an interesting dream, but now it was more important to make sure he didn’t oversleep. He rushes out of the room to prepare breakfast.

              To his utmost relief, he hasn’t overslept, and the morning devotion and breakfast both pass without incident. It isn’t until he and Modesty are out on the streets when she turns to him and says, “You were really brave yesterday.”

               “I…what?”

             “We came back late last night and Ma was angry. You know how she gets. I think she wanted to hit you but you just stared at her and when she tried to grab the belt from you, you held on to her hand and looked straight into her eyes and said ‘don’t push me’ and she actually backed off. You were weird the whole of yesterday, but that was _amazing_. Can you do it again?”

            “I did this yesterday?” Credence tries to remember what had happened yesterday, apart from the vivid wizard dream. Most of the time, the days blur together because there isn’t much variation in their routine, even when it comes to beatings. He has long since given up on protesting or even crying. There is no way he would do something like this. Maybe he isn’t the only one who’s been having weird dreams. “Are you sure you’re not imagining things?”

                “No way! Chastity was hiding in our room, trying to pretend she couldn’t hear what was happening, but I could tell she was glad too. Whatever happened to you, it was great. You should do it more often. Maybe she’ll stop hitting you or us.”

              “That would be nice,” Credence says quietly. But Ma _had_ seemed different today. She was still full of resentment towards him, but he hadn’t gotten the sense that one wrong move would set her off. She also hadn’t given him the usual warning to give out all the leaflets and take care of Modesty. It was like she was pretending he didn’t exist. Had something really happened?

              “You’re acting more like your normal self today. Don’t do that. Walk up to people, force them to take the leaflets, and don’t let Ma push you around!” Modesty hugs herself with glee.

                 “What do you mean, don’t act like my normal self?” Credence feels slightly insulted. “How was I acting, uh, yesterday?”

                “Weird,” Modesty replies bluntly. “You were all dazed and confused in the morning. You didn’t know where the bathroom was and you were nearly late for the devotional. You couldn’t remember mine or Chastity’s names. I was so worried Ma was going to go off on you even before we got out of the house. Good thing it wasn’t your turn to prepare meals for us or for the orphans. But you were cool too. Even when people tried to ignore you, you forced them to take the leaflets, and you rolled your eyes and said ‘tell me about it’ when one person asked if you actually believed the bullshit you were handing out.” She pauses to laugh at the curse word.

               “Watch your mouth,” Credence says absently. But his mind is whirling at full speed. How is it that he can’t remember any of this happening? Even if he had managed to find the courage to face the ridicule of strangers, the whole thing with Ma sounds unreal. He sounds like a completely different person.   “Let’s compete against each other to see who can hand out their leaflets faster!”

             “I don’t—” Credence begins, but Modesty is already dashing off to accost strangers. Unlike him, she has never had a problem making herself heard or noticed. He suspects it has to do with her upbringing. She may not remember much about her real family, except that she had a lot of siblings, but habits cultivated from a young age are hard to break. He should know.

              He shrugs. A competition wouldn’t be so bad since this is what they need to be doing anyway. Whatever Modesty thinks happened, there’s no way he could have changed that drastically overnight. He’s still quiet, timid Credence.

                  He ends up losing the competition by a large margin.

* * *

                Percival opens his eyes to shelves of books. For some reason, he has fallen asleep in the study, which he usually tries not to do unless he’s rushing to complete reports for work. He goes about his morning routine of washing up and getting dressed, ruminating over the unusually vivid dream he had last night. And what a dream it was, too. Dreaming of being a Scourer, but instead of leading witch-hunts, all he’d done was hand out leaflets and babysit a little girl. The Scourers are definitely an unpleasant bunch, but the little girl hadn’t been so bad. He wonders why he would dream of them when he’s not even in charge of their case. Maybe it’s lingering guilt over demoting Tina. Whatever. He has to get ready for work now.

                  When he heads into the living room, Art and Mal greet him with twin cries of, “Percy! Are you still Confunded?”

               Percival usually doesn’t talk to the portraits in the morning, since in Mal’s case, she’s usually still asleep, while Art is always full of criticism for him. It must be in their family’s blood to constantly demand more, because Art has never been satisfied with what he’s achieved and keeps going on about Percival’s less-than-stellar Potions results. It’s not his fault Art made some revolutionary breakthrough when he discovered that substituting nightingale feathers with merman’s tears would improve the consistency of a Voice-Enhancing Potion a zillion years ago. Nobody even _brews_ that potion nowadays, since someone else created the Sonorous Charm in 1784. Percival lives for the present, and considering how fucked up the world is right now, he thinks he deserves a little credit for his role as Director of Magical Security, attempting to keep the chaos at bay. He has already dipped his hand into the bag of Floo Powder hanging by the fireplace, planning to Floo directly into his office, when the words register and he spins around. “What?”

                 “So you’ve finally remembered you’re a wizard?”

                 “What are you—of course I know I’m a wizard!”

                “Could have fooled me.” Art points the wand he’s been painted with at Percival. “Who was the person who asked me why my wand looks different from his own, and couldn’t even perform a simple Levitation Charm?”

               “What are you talking about?” Percival realises that his handful of Floo Powder is leaking onto the carpet, and with an impatient sigh, he dusts off his hands and Vanishes the mess.

                   “So you can perform magic today,” Mal notes. “And you’re back to being impatient and rude.”

                   “I’m not impatient and rude,” Percival says rudely.

                    “Looks like the Confundus Charm’s worn off. Good thing, too. I was starting to worry about how Sera would react to this.”

                “What about Sera?” Percival hadn’t seen Seraphina yesterday. They might have to attend high-level meetings together, but they each have their own duties, and he can go days without laying eyes on her.

                    “She came by yesterday to get your signature for something, but you were Confunded and had trouble even signing your name properly, so she asked you to stay at home for the day,” Mal reports.

                     “I went to work yesterday,” Percival protests. He hardly ever takes sick leave.

                     “You stayed home,” Art says firmly. “And you set a cushion on fire while trying to cast a Levitation Charm.”

                    Percival gapes at the couch. One of the cushions is missing. When he turns back to the fireplace, he sees charred remains of something that might have been a cushion. “I liked that cushion.”

                      “So repair it.”

                      “It’s too far gone now.” Percival sighs. “Did I come back late? Was I drunk or something?”

                     “Like I said, you were Confunded and stayed home all day. Sera thinks one of your Aurors might have put it on you as revenge, to make you forget you could do magic. What was the name she said again…Goldberg?”

                      “Goldstein?” Percival frowns. “Tina? No, she wouldn’t do that.”

                      “Sera said she might have a grudge against you.” Mal sounds angry. “Grudge or not, she shouldn’t have done it. You should fire her.”

                    “I already demoted her, and she wouldn’t do something like that to me.” Percival doesn’t have close personal relationships with every Auror under him, but he knows Tina well enough, since he had been assigned as her mentor back when she had first gotten through the testing process fresh out of Ilvermorny. She is impulsive and fiercely protective of people she cares about, but she is also a firm believer in following rules, something he had found a little strange in a Thunderbird. It was why he had decided to demote her instead of straight out firing her—she must have believed she had the right reasons for attacking the No-Maj, even though she obviously shouldn’t have done it. Tina might be angry with him about her demotion, but she wouldn’t sabotage him behind his back.

                     “Since when are you so trusting towards people? I’d have thought your job requires a healthy dose of scepticism.”

                      “I don’t trust people, but I trust my ability to judge people’s characters.” Percival crosses his arms. “I’m not firing Tina.”

                      Mal rolls her eyes. “Oh well, you’re definitely back to normal. I must say, you were a lot more polite when you were Confunded.”

                      “I told you, I wasn’t Confunded! I had a normal day at work yesterday!”

                       Art’s call of “pigheaded Wampus” trails after Percival as he grabs a fresh handful of Floo Powder and vanishes into the fireplace.

* * *

 

                  Back in his office, Percival spends the first part of the day dealing with the memos and reports on his desk. He still thinks he didn’t miss work, whatever Mal and Art may say, but it _is_ strange to have accumulated so much paperwork overnight. Was he really out for a day? He should ask Sera if he manages to see her.

                    It isn’t until he’s reading through a report on the investigation into a Connecticut-based mob squad that he remembers the Scourers. For some reason, the details of that dream keep intruding into his mind instead of fading away as the day progresses. He pictures that little blond girl, Modesty. Is she really called Modesty? How come he remembers her name so clearly when he can’t seem to remember the name of their leader at all? That leader had been a downright bitch, though. He’s starting to understand why Modesty had been so scared of angering her. He hopes Modesty can keep her head down and stay out of trouble. Maybe he should check the file, just in case. It wouldn’t be out of place for him to look through their file, even if it’s not a high-priority case.

                  The file is a lot thinner than most of the other cases Percival has on hand. It only contains a few pieces of paper with fuzzy, black-and-white photos clipped to them. Reading the notes, Percival learns that the New York-based Scourers call themselves the New Salem Philantropic Society, or Second Salemers. They are led by a woman called Mary Lou Barebone, and the core organisation seems to be made up of just her and her three children with virtue-based names. Remembering what Modesty had said about Mary Lou not being her real mother, he flips to the page which bears a photo of Modesty. Unfortunately, there isn’t any information about her background, just a note that she’s adopted. Her magical status is listed as No-Maj. Modesty looks a little too young for Ilvermorny, but if this information is correct, she won’t ever be getting a letter.

                    Percival pauses at the photo of the boy on the page after Modesty. He recognises the terrible haircut and downcast eyes straight away. This is the boy he had dreamed of. For some reason, when he dreamt of being a Scourer, he had placed himself in the role of this child. Was it because he was the only boy in a house full of women? The boy’s name, Credence, matches what Modesty had been calling him all day. His age isn’t stated anywhere, but he looks a bit too old to be called a child. He is also a No-Maj adopted by Mary Lou. For a moment, Percival wonders why exactly Mary Lou adopted these children. Is it out of some sort of religious obligation to care for those in need? That would mean these children are orphans. Modesty had mentioned a real family, but she still calls Mary Lou her Ma. If only there was more information available…

                    After he has read through the page on Chastity (age: unknown, magical status: No-Maj, adopted by Mary Lou from an orphanage), he turns back to the page on Mary Lou. Percival should probably have started with her, since she’s the leader, but he had been too curious about Modesty and Credence. Her page is equally lacking in proper information. A No-Maj born in Louisiana who moved to New York in her mid-thirties. Unmarried. No strong ties to Scourers based elsewhere in the US. Tries to spread anti-witchcraft messages around the city but nobody really listens. The report concludes with a recommendation that the New Salem Philantropic Society be accorded low-grade surveillance status, and Percival sees his own signature approving the classification on the bottom of the page. He sighs. In theory, nothing is out of place. The Second Salemers don’t pose a significant threat. If he had been presented with this report again, he would have approved the classification. But the information is so sparse, it hardly tells him anything at all. He wonders if he needs to give his Aurors another lecture on how to write proper reports.

                  A piece of paper tucked behind the photo of Mary Lou, which captures her shaking her fist in the air as she speaks, catches his attention. It is folded into a square, and he recognises Tina’s handwriting. A short sentence: “Think she beats her kids. Will investigate.”

                  Percival sighs. _Now_ he remembers. Tina hadn’t been on this case at first. The shoddy report in the file had been put together by another Auror, one Percival has chewed out for unprofessional conduct on more than one occasion. She knew the Auror wouldn’t really care either way, so she had conducted her own investigation and barged into the church one night, attacking Mary Lou. The avalanche of reports from the Obliviator Squad and angry messages from Sera had eclipsed Tina’s side of the story, but Percival definitely heard something about a kid being abused. His dream hardly counts as concrete evidence, but Mary Lou had seemed to have a particularly strong hatred towards Percival. Well, Credence, technically. He remembers how Mary Lou had been lying in wait for him and Modesty to come back, held out her hand like she was waiting for something and suddenly tried to grab the belt he was wearing while he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. He wonders if Credence has ever tried to stop her. Most likely not, if he considers the scars on the boy’s hands.

                   But how does Percival know all this, anyway? The reports provide the bare bones (heh) of information, but not the details of their day-to-day life, like the morning devotional and the fact that Credence seems to be closer to Modesty than Chastity. Percival doesn’t even know where the Bible verses Mary Lou had quoted in her sermon come from, and there had been a lot of them. How had his brain managed to cook up such a vivid scenario?

                   There is a knock on the door, and he hurriedly closes the file and stows it under another pile of paperwork, feeling strangely guilty even though he’s not technically slacking off on the job. It swings open to reveal Sera, who strides in. “So you’re feeling better today.”

                     “I was fine yesterday,” Percival says, pointing his wand at the door so that it swings shut behind her.

                    “No you weren’t,” Sera replies. She shoves a piece of paper in his face. “I came to your office to ask you to read this properly. You signed it yesterday, once in that ridiculous eight-year-old-cursive style and once with your actual signature, but you were Confunded, so I want to make sure you actually take in the details.”

                    “Why does everyone keep saying I was Confunded? I was fine yesterday. I put in a normal day at work, went home and went to bed. All in all, the typical life of a workaholic bachelor.” Percival scans the document and does a double take at the signature. “I signed this?”

                    Sera rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Yes, Percival. This is the eight-year-old-cursive style I was talking about. You were Confunded but you managed to copy your original signature satisfactorily on a new document. Which was good, because I needed that urgently. You didn’t come in to work yesterday.”

                   Percival reads the document, which is basically everything he and Sera have been discussing about the measures they need to take in order to deal with the mysterious dark force terrorising the city and to placate the people who have been inconvenienced by the dark force’s actions. Why doesn’t he remember signing this form? Has he really spent a day out of commission, dreaming about being a Scourer instead?

                 “You understand what we need to do, right? Your Aurors are authorised to use lethal force against the source of this darkness. The ICW is breathing down my neck about this. They keep bringing up what happened with Dorcus Twelvetrees, but that happened _more than a hundred years ago_ and we’ve been doing fine with Rappaport’s Law. Bunch of stuffy politicians.”

                     “ _You’re_ a stuffy politician,” Percival points out, and ducks as she sends a cup of tea flying at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me personal headcanon is that even with a wand, Credence would have trouble doing spells properly because he's so used to suppressing magic that he wouldn't know how to use an instrument that requires you to channel magic through it in a specific way. So even when he does manage to cast something, the spells don't do what he intends for them to do. And he mostly sets things on fire.


	4. Chapter 4

           The next two days pass without any more weird wizard-related dreams. Credence continues to take turns with Chastity to prepare food for their family and for the orphans, tidies the church with Modesty, and goes out to buy more ink because they’re running low and need to print more leaflets. Ma continues to pretend he doesn’t exist, something he much prefers but isn’t able to fully enjoy because there’s a part of him waiting with bated breath for the other shoe to drop. Modesty makes her disappointment that he’s gone back to being shy and unwilling to approach strangers very vocal, and Credence still doesn’t understand why she keeps talking about this alleged personality change. The only concrete proof he has that something may have happened is Ma’s refusal to look at him.  As Modesty runs ahead of him, he picks up a twig and whispers _Wingardium Leviosa_ while pointing it at a leaf. He swears it moved a little, but that might have been the wind. There really is no proof that magic is real. He couldn’t even do it properly in a dream. Then Modesty turns back, and he hastily tosses the twig away.

            Credence isn’t sure if he’s naturally pessimistic or if life has just taught him not to get his hopes up, but it’s a good thing he didn’t allow himself to believe that Ma would let him blend into the background as long as he got his chores done. Things come to a head one night when she accuses him of pocketing the money she gave him for the ink, ignoring his explanations that the price had gone up and the money had been just enough to pay for it. She raised her hand to hit him, he instinctively flinched away from her, and it all went downhill from there. Modesty’s account of how he had gotten Ma to back down sound like a sick joke. He’s just a cowardly liar who, even after all these years of Ma’s teachings, still has sinful dreams of escaping into a world where portraits talk and heads appear in fires to chastise him about ugly handwriting. He is ungrateful, greedy and stupid, and maybe she shouldn’t have adopted him after all.

           (Even amidst the haze of pain, there is a tiny part of Credence that can’t help wondering if life would have been better if she had just left him with his wicked, unnatural real mother.)

* * *

             Credence opens his eyes, and senses that his cheek is pressed into an unusually comfortable pillow. There is also an oddly familiar-looking lamp by his bed. He squints, then sits bolt upright as he realises where he’s seen it before.

             He’s dreaming again. This is Percy’s room. He cautiously walks to the mirror and notes that his face and body have changed again. Why does he always look different? Does he hate himself so much he can’t even bear to look at his own face in a dream? This time, he is somewhat glad not to have to look at his own face, considering how angry Ma had been last night. He must have made his way back to his room, somehow, and fallen asleep. He finds himself wishing that this dream will stretch on forever, because reality is purplish bruises and throbbing pain.

               His heart pounds as he slides open the drawer to reveal the wand. It still looks the same, the silver head and band providing a splash of colour against the ebony. He takes it out and waves it around, but nothing happens. Of course, he needs to say certain words and even move his hands in a specific way. He walks out to the living room.

               “Could you please give me another spell I could try?”

              This time, Art and Mal are both asleep, so Credence has to wake them up and repeat his question. They are grumpy at first, but the grumpiness soon gives way to concern.

              “He’s been Confunded again?”

              “But he was fine yesterday and the day before!”

              “Maybe that Goldstein puts a weak one on him whenever she gets the chance.”

              “Percy, you need to see a Healer.”

              “I’m not sick,” Credence insists. “And I know I look different in this dream, but my name is actually Credence. Percy’s a nice name, though.”

              “He thinks he’s someone else!” Mal looks horrified. “It’s getting worse.”

            “I _am_ someone else. I don’t understand why I keep dreaming of myself as a completely different person, when I usually just appear as myself in normal dreams. But this is a nice dream. Probably the nicest one I’ve had in a long time.”

              “Oh, how I wish I had another portrait connected to the hospital…” Mal wrings her hands.

              “Percy, send a memo to Sera telling her to come here,” Art orders.

               Credence blinks. “Why?”

               “If you won’t listen to us, maybe you’ll listen to her. She can get the Healers to make a house call.”

               “I don’t need Healers,” Credence says patiently. “This is just a dream. Can you please just tell me a spell I can use?”

               “Wait, Art… didn’t Percy go back to normal after a day? Maybe this is just one of those weird passing illnesses. Can we check a medical journal?”

             “The _Medical Potioneer’s Guide_ was only founded forty years after my death and I wasn’t painted with a library,” Art says gruffly. “If it is a weird passing thing, maybe he could stay home from work for today again.”

               Credence perks up at the mention of work. The last time he had dreamt this, he had spent the entire day in the study after recovering from the panic of setting the cushion on fire. He wonders what sort of job his subconscious has seen fit to assign to this wizard. What sort of world wizards live in. “I’m going to work.”

                 Ignoring Mal and Art’s protests, he heads back to his (Percy’s?) room to get changed.

* * *

                 Percy’s wardrobe is full of dark colours, just like Credence’s own, but unlike his clothes, which are worn thin with Modesty’s clumsy stitches patching up places where holes have started to appear, Percy’s clothes are made of softer, higher-quality cloth. Credence wants to bury himself in Percy’s shirts, but his desire to see Percy’s workplace wins out, so he gets dressed, folding up the pajamas he has been wearing and placing them carefully on the bed. He slips into a long-sleeved white shirt and long black trousers like his own, buttons a vest over the shirt, and pulls on a long coat with white edging on the sleeves, deciding at the last moment to throw on a blue scarf just to add colour to the outfit. He looks at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. Percy is a handsome wizard. Maybe he really is attracted to men after all. Just like this entire dream, such thoughts are off-limits in real life. He takes a deep breath, picks up the wand and strides through the living room, about to walk out of the door, before he realises he doesn’t know where he works.

                 “Not wearing those flashy scorpion pins today?”

                  Credence spins around. “Sorry?”

                  “I still think going to work is a terrible idea, Percy. Why don’t you just stay home? Sera will understand.”

                 Credence has a feeling that if he tells the portraits he doesn’t know where he works, it will strengthen their argument for him to stay home. There has to be a way to get the name of the workplace out of them. “I left something in the office. Something that needs to be cleared urgently. You know how it is as Director.” He vaguely remembers some fancy title with the word “Director” in it from the last time he had this dream.

                  Arthur rolls his eyes. “Director of Magical Security at MACUSA. Big deal. You still can’t brew potions to save your life.”

               _Gotcha_. Credence tries to prevent a smile from spreading across his face as Mal chides Art for bringing up this argument when Percy is clearly ill. He knows Percy’s job title and the name of the workplace (MACUSA? What is that supposed to be?). Now he just needs to know how to get there. “It shouldn’t take long to get there, I hope. I’ll probably have a lot more things to do once I get there.”

                 “You can just Floo directly to your office, grab what you need and go.” Mal crosses her arms and nearly drops her ear trumpet. “I know what you’re trying to do, Percy.”

                  Credence’s triumphant mood falters a little. “I…I’m not trying anything.”

                 “You’re still Confunded. But I’m not in the mood to get into an argument with you. I’ll leave Sera to chase you home once she sees the state you’re in. Go on, get to work.”

               Credence’s shoulders sag in resignation. What’s the point of pretending? At least if he asks Mal directly, he’ll be able to get a look at the place before Sera, that woman who had appeared in the fireplace the last time, chases him out. “How do I Floo?”

                  “Grab a handful of that powder by the fireplace, throw it in the flames and step inside. Say ‘Director of Magical Security’s Office, MACUSA’.”

                  “Step…inside…the fire?”

                  “Still want to go to work?”

                 “Yes, of course.” Credence forces himself to stand up straight. He tosses a handful of powder into the fire, fighting down a cry of surprise when it turns green. Every instinct is telling him to step away from the fire, not into it. His mind is filling with vivid images of fire and brimstone, tortured souls writhing among the flames. Is this just another sign that he’s going to Hell for everything he’s done?

                   “Better hurry up before the effect wears off.”

                    Biting his lip, Credence steps into the fire, bracing himself to feel unbearably hot temperatures and searing pain. But to his surprise, the temperature is just slightly above average and his clothes aren’t burning off his body. His mouth falls open and he inhales a mouthful of ash, causing him to cough.

               “Remember to speak clearly!” Mal’s voice sounds further away now. Credence remembers Art telling him to speak louder when he tried to cast Wingardium Leviosa and thinks wizards must have a thing for being clear and precise. He does his best to speak as loudly and clearly as he can. “Director of Magical Security’s Office, MACUSA!”

                   The world starts to spin. Credence’s elbow catches against something hard and he winces, tucking it in. Is this how wizards travel? How had that woman brought only her head into the fireplace to lecture Credence? He is starting to get dizzy from all the spinning. Maybe he should have just asked Mal for directions on how to walk there, since he’s accustomed to walking all over the city.

                   Just as he thinks this, he falls out of the fireplace into an official-looking room that is almost as big as the room he had just left. There is an imposing-looking desk with a nameplate on it, piled high with paperwork, and as he watches, a mouse-shaped object scurries across the room, jumps up onto the table and unfolds itself to form another piece of paper. Credence looks at the nameplate and learns that Percy’s full name is Percival Graves. At least he’s in the right place. He shifts a few pieces of paper aside to reveal a strange object that looks like a four-sided clock, but instead of numbers, it is divided into sections marked with different colours. The hands are resting in the orange section labelled “Severe”. The top of the clock reads “Magical Threat Exposure Level”. How strange. Next to it is a moving photo of what looks like people milling around the ruins of a building.

                   Suddenly, a voice calls out, “Reminder: Meeting with President Picquery and Ilvermorny Headmistress at nine o’clock!” Credence jumps. Isn’t he alone in the room? He tries to locate the source of the voice, finally managing to pin it down to a cat-like statue in the corner. The cat’s yellow eyes seem to follow him as he walks over to it. It repeats the message again when Credence doesn’t say anything. Leave it to wizards to have talking statues on top of talking portraits.

                   “Reminder— “

                   “Okay, okay,” Credence says hastily. The voice cuts off and he stares in fascination at the statue. He has never seen an animal like this before. On closer inspection, it looks like a lion and seems to have eight legs. Then he remembers what the lion had said. “What’s Ilvermorny?”

                 The statue doesn’t answer him, even after he repeats the question. How come the portraits are capable of conducting a conversation, but not the statues? Or is it just this one?

                   He wanders out of Percy’s office into a room that is bustling with activity. A man is leaning over a woman’s desk to talk to her, waving his wand as he speaks. A coffee cup flies through the air straight into his other hand. Another woman is shrugging on her coat and moving towards the door, clutching a few pieces of paper. A man is hunched over his table, reading something with furrowed brows and pointedly ignoring the squeaking of a paper mouse that has climbed halfway up his arm. Some of the tables are empty.

                    The woman looks away from the man talking to her and says, “Good morning, Director Graves!”

                    Everyone in the office turns to stare at Credence, and he quickly looks down at the floor. A few more greetings of “good morning” come his way and he nods in acknowledgement, still staring at the floor. These must be Percy’s colleagues. Hopefully none of them want to talk to him.

                   He can sense the eyes of Percy’s colleagues on him as he makes his way to the door, studiously avoiding eye contact with them. As he finally leaves the room, the conversation inside resumes and he hears something like, “What’s wrong with him today?”

                   Credence is now standing in a carpeted corridor. The room he has just left has a sign on it labelled “Auror Office”. He walks down the corridor, drawn to a soft, golden light that seems to be coming from the end of it. The corridor opens up into a huge space with elevators. He must be quite high up because he can’t see the ground, even when he sticks his head over the railing fencing in the space.

                  “What are you doing, Percival?” 

                 Credence jumps and his grip on the railing slips. The woman whose face had appeared in the fireplace is standing behind him, accompanied by another woman. The fireplace woman—Sera?—looks unamused. Now that her head is attached to her body, Credence sees that she is wearing a long, sweeping dress with filigreed patterns running down the front and sleeves. The other woman is wearing a tartan wool coat with a matching hat, and her face looks friendlier. She is beaming at Credence. “Percy! I haven’t seen you since you graduated over twenty years ago! How’s life in government treating you?”

* * *

                  Percival wakes up to near-complete darkness. This is strange, because he usually keeps the lamp by his bed burning at low brightness through the night. He is also lying on his stomach for some reason. When he rolls over onto his back, trying to get up, an intense pain shoots through his body and he lets out a yelp. “Fuck!”

                     The door swings open, revealing Modesty. What is she doing here? Is he dreaming again?

                    “Credence! Don’t say that here!”

                    Percival blinks up at her. Did she just call him Credence? And what is she doing here? Is he having that Scourer dream again? As if once wasn’t enough.

                    “I got Chastity to take over breakfast preparation for today. I’m so sorry I couldn’t come find you yesterday night, I was so scared…”

                  “Yesterday night?” Percival’s eyes are starting to grow accustomed to the darkness. He isn’t wearing his usual pajamas, but a long-sleeved white shirt that looks rumpled, like he has slept in it. He sits up, feeling aches and pains burn through his body the entire time. His hands are clenched around a thin blanket, and when he lets go of the blanket, he sees blood on the sheets. “What the—?”

                    Modesty throws herself at him, and he notices that she is careful not to place her hands on his back. “Oh, Credence… Why didn’t you stand up to her?”

                    Percival has a feeling he knows who Modesty is talking about. He doesn’t know why he’s dreaming of the Scourers again, but Mary Lou must have hurt Credence. He had faced her down the last time he dreamt this, but based on Mary Lou’s attitude, she had expected him to accept his punishment without complaint.  His actions must have made things worse for the boy. But wait, he had only confronted Mary Lou in a dream. How would that have any effect on how she treated Credence in real life?

                   “You should go get ready for the devotional. We don’t want to be late.” Modesty untangles herself from him and starts picking things off the ground. Percival takes the clothes she passes him and slowly eases himself off the mattress, thinking that he hasn’t felt this shitty since the last time he had been involved in subduing a particularly hex-happy mob boss. Is this how Credence feels every day?

                     Even though Modesty asked him to hurry, Percival finds himself dawdling in the bathroom, taking stock of the injuries on his (Credence’s?) body. His hands are bleeding again, and there are cuts and bruises scattered all over. The worst of it seems to be on his back; each cut red and angry. He actually has difficulty peeling the shirt off and when he finally manages to remove it, he sees that blood has soaked through the fabric. Modesty had passed him the too-small waistcoat and blazer he had worn the last time he had this dream, but no new shirt. He flicks his fingers at the stain, trying to remove it, before remembering that Credence is a No-Maj and he can’t perform magic in this body. With a sigh, he pulls it back on, along with the waistcoat and blazer. He is about to loop the belt around his waist when his brain makes the connection between the injuries and the belt.

                       _That is one twisted bitch._

                     There is a soft tapping on the door, and Percival realises that he’s spent long enough in the bathroom. Unlike the last time, Modesty doesn’t hold his hand, but loops her arm through his. They walk down the staircase to the chapel. Chastity and Mary Lou are already there, and while anger burns in Percival’s gut at the thought of having to listen to this woman’s spiel after she apparently beat the shit out of Credence last night, he can’t bring himself to look her in the eye. He looks over at Chastity instead. She is doing a good job of avoiding his gaze, and he remembers, based on their interactions in the previous dream and his conversations with Modesty, that she seems to hate Credence. Or at least, she tries to avoid interacting with him unless absolutely necessary. Percival thinks she seems to have a good sense of self-preservation, if anything. At least Modesty is friendly.

                    The sermon is pretty similar to the one he heard last time, but Mary Lou throws in a few more verses against witchcraft and homosexuality. Percival spends the hour pondering where on earth he could have picked up all this, and if it means he subconsciously dislikes being a wizard. Which is ridiculous, because the magical world is the only one he has ever known and being stuck in this No-Maj body has been an absolute inconvenience. Why is he so interested in the Scourers all of a sudden? Is he supposed to feel sympathy for them? They are usually portrayed as one-sided villains in history books, greedy turncoats who tried to make themselves into martyrs when they were ultimately brought to justice. The effects of their actions have had long-lasting effects on the way wizarding society is governed, and Percival feels the restrictions are reasonable, even though wizards from other countries might find them extreme. What many of these wizards don’t realise is how important religion is to many American No-Maj, since some of the earliest settlers had been motivated by a desire to practice very specific religious beliefs and had been willing to kill for said beliefs. This makes them particularly receptive to the Scourers’ fearmongering and provides additional challenges to the threat of exposure. Fortunately, as the No-Maj enter a new age of rationalism and scientific innovation, the Scourers’ ideology is treated as deluded ramblings of extremist nutjobs. Which is lucky for MACUSA, since all Percival and his team want to do is ensure that their society is left alone.

                   Percival is wondering if he can enter MACUSA headquarters in Credence’s body (if he can’t perform magic in this body, does that mean the secret entrance won’t work for him?) and how he can swing by the place without attracting Modesty’s curiosity (he mustn’t forget that as nice as she is, she’s also a Scourer) when Mary Lou storms off the stage and they all head to breakfast, just like they did last time. But after breakfast, Mary Lou announces that Chastity is in charge of taking care of Modesty today. Percival is secretly delighted, because this gives him the chance to test out his theory. Credence is technically a No-Maj, but Percival is a wizard. Wandless magic is hard enough as it is. Maybe if he can get his hands on an actual wand, or follow some witch or wizard into headquarters, he can find someone who can help him out of this situation. It suddenly occurs to Percival that he is starting to think about all this as if it is real. He has never experienced a continuation of a past dream before. It’s not exactly a perfect continuation either. Things have happened that are now affecting him as Credence.

                        _Is this real? Am I really swapping bodies with this boy?_

                        “Why are you still standing around?”

                        Percival’s hands tighten around the leaflets. Mary Lou is glaring at him, and he realises that Chastity and Modesty have left. Off stage, he sees that she is quite a bit shorter than he is. It is hard to imagine Credence being pushed around by someone so small, but then again, this is probably something that has been happening since he was young. Percival wants to say something rude—what does she do all day while her kids run around the city spreading her bullshit, anyway? The words are already on the tip of his tongue when the possibility that this isn’t a dream gnaws at him again. The reminders of the real-world consequences of talking back to Mary Lou are carved into his skin, and the cuts tingle unpleasantly as he looks at her. It takes every bit of self-control he possesses to hold back his retort and turn away from her.


	5. Chapter 5

        “It’s always good to see our students doing well after graduating from Ilvermorny,” The tartan-coated woman says warmly. “Your batch was particularly outstanding, Madame President. I knew you were destined for greatness when all the carvings chose you! But why Horned Serpent? I’ve always thought you would have made a great Pukwudgie.”

           “Oh Headmistress, that’s just your house pride speaking. I still don’t understand why the Pukwudgie carving chose me. Most people who know me would say I don’t have a heart. Isn’t that right, Percival?”

         Credence gives her a weak smile. They have moved into Sera’s—President Picquery’s—office, which is a lot grander than Percy’s. There is a lot of gold furnishing, moving pictures of what Credence thinks may be the President’s family, and an expensive-looking tea set that looks like it could have kept his entire family fed for a week if she ever decided to sell it. He knew Percy was a big shot, but he hadn’t realised he had been speaking to the President of Wizards the whole time. It should scare him, like meeting Lucifer in the flesh, but Sera doesn’t seem like a devil. A little strict, but nice. He can hear Ma’s voice in his head, warning that the Devil takes on myriad forms in order to trick people into straying from God, but pushes it out. He wants to enjoy this dream to the fullest, not spend time mulling over Ma’s teachings.

            He, Sera and the tartan-coated woman, Headmistress Macgouirk, are sipping tea on one of the plush couches in Sera’s office. It turns out that Percy and Sera graduated from the same school, Ilvermorny, and this woman was the headmistress there. The headmistress had been a little hurt when Credence didn’t recognise her, and he had practically fallen over himself apologising, until he realised that she was laughing at him. Credence was surprised to learn that there are schools for wizards. Then again, most normal children go to schools, so it makes sense that wizards also have schools. He must subconsciously want to go to a real school, even though he can read and write just fine.

            “So this spate of mysterious destruction is concentrated within New York City?” The Headmistress traces her finger over the rim of the cup. “Is there any possibility of it spreading to other states as well? Ilvermorny is in a different state, but we’re all on the East Coast, and as well-protected as the school is, I’m sure you understand my concerns that whoever is behind it might find a way to breach the security since most American wizards are alumni. Or even if that’s not their intention, the exposure of the existence of a wizarding school in America might spur vengeful No-Maj to descend upon Ilvermorny and threaten the safety of my students.”

            “Of course,” Sera says soothingly. “The safety of Ilvermorny’s students is paramount. I’ll leave the actual report to Percival, but I highly doubt the perpetrator intends to attack Ilvermorny. There hasn’t been an attempted attack on the castle since Isolt Sayre herself had to fend off that aunt of hers in the seventeenth century. The criminals we deal with are many things, but they have limits, and attacking children is something most of them won’t stoop to. Regarding the possibility of No-Maj descending upon Ilvermorny, well, I can’t deny that the exposure of our society will threaten the school, even with the Pukwudgies’ willingness to fight and defend it. The No-Maj can be very tenacious. Percival, what has your investigation team found out about the dark force?”

               The two women look at Credence, and his mouth goes dry. Is he expected to answer this question?

               “Are there multiple perpetrators or is this all the work of one person?” Sera prompts.

               “Um…I…” Credence stammers. He has barely been keeping up with the conversation as it is. Why are they asking Percy these things?

                “You seem really stressed, Percy,” The Headmistress says, studying his face closely. Credence looks away from her. “Have you been working too hard?”

               “He was a little weird the other day,” Sera replies. “I thought it might have been a Confundus Charm. He forgot how to sign his name, and it was like he’d had a complete personality change. Instead of the assertive, bullish asshole I have to deal with on a daily basis, he was timid and confused. Kind of like he is now.” She gasps. “Have you been Confunded again, Percival?”

               Credence wants to ask what exactly this Confuddle thing is, but he suddenly remembers the previous dream, when he had met Sera as a talking head in the fireplace. He has never experienced the continuation of past dreams before, even among his more pleasant dreams in the past. He has always woken up at crucial moments—just before his body hit the ground after being pushed off a cliff, just before his real mother was due to appear to take him away. Why does this dream feel like a continuation of the previous one, with familiar faces like Sera, Art and Mal making an appearance, but also new characters like Headmistress Macgouirk? How is it that his brain is able to come up with so many details about wizards and witches that he has never heard of in real life? The closest thing to what he has learned about wizards and witches from Ma’s teachings is that they use wands to do magic and brew evil concoctions, which is what Art does in his portrait. But everything else—travelling by fire, talking portraits and statues, even the spells they use—is completely new. The idea that there is a wizarding school is new and exciting. Is there a possibility that this might not be a dream?

           “Percy?” He jumps as a hand covers his own. “I think you might be ill. You should probably stay home and rest for a few days. Or see a Healer.”

          “I don’t need a Healer,” Credence mumbles. He isn’t sure if his aversion to seeing a doctor stems from the fear of having to parry awkward questions about his various injuries, or if it’s simply because they don’t have the money. If this is a dream, money shouldn’t be a problem. He’s not even in his own body right now. But if this isn’t a dream, what are they going to do to him?

          “The last time this happened, the Confundus Charm appeared to fade on its own and he came back to work the next day,” Sera tells the Headmistress. “I think I should escort him home. I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this meeting short. Maybe I could get Percival to send you a report once he’s feeling better?”

           “That would be nice. Make sure he rests up, though. He probably shouldn’t even have come in to work today.”

          “I know.” Sera sets down her cup of tea and grips Credence’s arm forcefully. “He’s too stubborn for his own good. I’ll take him home right now. Make yourself comfortable, Headmistress. I’ll be back soon.”

        The Headmistress smiles gently at the two of them. Sera steers Credence out of her office, down the corridor to the elevators, and presses a button. The elevator starts to descend, and when it opens, Credence realises that she is leading him back to Percy’s office. The people in the main office all leap to their feet at the sight of Sera and him, but Sera doesn’t stop to chat. She gives them a curt nod, then pulls open the door to Percy’s office and storms inside, still holding on to Credence.

          Credence is highly attuned to the changing moods of people around him, especially when it comes to anger. He can tell Sera is angry, and this worries him. Is she angry with him for messing up? He had dropped the ball and caused her to cut the meeting short, after all. Is she angry that he came to work when she believes he’s ill? How can he tell her that he’s not actually Percy, that he doesn’t understand half the things they were talking about, without sounding completely insane? Mal was right, she’s going to chase him home for sure, but before she does that, she’s going to punish him. He needs to be punished so he will learn not to make the same mistakes again. He wills himself to wake up, if this is a dream. If not—

        The grip around his arm loosens, and Sera turns to face him. Credence tenses up, braced for a blow, but seconds pass and nothing happens. He cautiously opens his eyes to see her staring at him, hands by her sides. She isn’t even holding her wand.

          “Percy?”

           Credence doesn’t trust himself to speak.

           “Percy… Did something happen? I think it goes deeper than a Confundus Charm.”

         “I’m not Percy,” Credence whispers. “I’m Credence. I don’t know how to do magic, I don’t understand why I keep dreaming that I’m Percy. I didn’t mean to mess up your meeting. I just wanted to see Percy’s workplace. I didn’t mean to…to…”

           “Why do you think you can’t do magic?”

           “I set a cushion on fire trying to cast Wingardium Leviosa,” Credence sniffles. Suddenly, the inability to do magic properly really hurts.

           “We all make mistakes. Why don’t you try another spell? Right here, in front of me.”

           Credence fumbles for Percy’s wand. He is about to wave it around when he realises he doesn’t know any other spells. Sera isn’t in a full-blown rage (yet), but what if she gets angry if he confesses that he doesn’t know anything else? Maybe he should just stick to the one spell he knows and hope it works. He points the wand at one of the pieces of paper on Percy’s desk, taking great care to move his hands in the way Art taught him. “ _Wingardium Leviosa.”_

The piece of paper leaps into the air. For a moment, Credence’s heart soars, but then it catches fire and he panics, losing his focus. Heart in his throat, he watches the paper plummet back down to Percy’s desk like a flaming comet. He’s about to set Percy’s entire desk on fire.

         A jet of water meets the ball of flame, causing it to go out. The charred remains of the paper fall back onto Percy’s desk, but the other documents remain unharmed. Credence gapes at Sera, realising that she was the one who had caused that jet of water to appear. Her expression is thoughtful, but not angry.

           “That was magic.”

           “It…it was?”

          “You messed up the spell, but it was magic nonetheless. You see, Percy? You can do magic. It’s just erratic, possibly because you’re not in the best state of mind. Maybe you’re overworked and stressed. I would really recommend that you go to the hospital.”

            Credence shakes his head vigorously. He’s not going anywhere but back to Percy’s house.

            “What was that about dreaming?”

           “I’m not Percy,” he explains. “My name is Credence. This is the second time I’ve dreamt that I’m Percy. This is probably the most realistic, vivid dream I’ve ever had. I can’t do magic in real life, and the last time I had this dream, I messed up the spell too. I need to wake up before I mess up more things here.”

           Sera is starting to look worried. “Percy, this isn’t a dream. You’re wide awake, and your name is Percival Graves. I think you should get some potions for stress, and stay home for a few days.”

             “But I can’t do magic properly.”

           “You cast a spell just now. Look, if you won’t go to the hospital, will you at least promise me you’ll stay home until you feel better? I know this is a very stressful time for the Auror Office, but you need to take care of yourself first. Go home and go to sleep. This isn’t a dream. It’s reality.”

             Credence remembers the last time he had fallen asleep in this world and woken up back in his own body. Maybe the same thing will happen this time. He nods.

              Sera chivvies him to the fireplace and watches as he takes a handful of Floo Powder. “I’ll be right behind you. I want to talk to Mal and Art.”

              Credence tosses the powder into the fire, watching it turn green. Sera raises an eyebrow at him, and he admits, “I don’t know what to say.”

          “'Percival Graves’s apartment' should do it.” She looks even more concerned now. Credence hastily steps into the fireplace, repeats, “Percival Graves’s apartment”, and begins the dizzying journey back to Percy’s house.

* * *

            Sera steps gracefully out of the fireplace just as Credence is picking himself off the ground. She shoos him to Percy’s room, and he is glad to have an excuse not to talk to Mal and Art. He suddenly feels exhausted, but before he tumbles into Percy’s bed, he suddenly has the urge to write something down. Grabbing a piece of parchment and the quill on the desk, he writes, “My name is Credence Barebone. Are you Percival Graves?” He leaves the paper on the desk. He isn’t sure why he’s doing this—if this is all in his head, it’s the equivalent of talking to himself. But if it’s not a dream (and there is a possibility that it isn’t—he doesn’t think he’s smart enough to come up with all these details about wizards and witches on his own), maybe Percy really does exist. And Credence wants to find out more about this person he’s been dreaming of.

* * *

             Percival usually Apparates to an alley one block away from the Woolworth Building, or Floos directly into his office. As a result, he has never appreciated how long it takes to get to MACUSA headquarters on foot. Like the rest of his clothes, Credence’s shoes are too small, and Percival thinks he can feel blisters forming as he walks. The whole time, he curses whatever divine being saw fit to play this sick joke on him. He half-wonders if Credence’s God will strike him down for such thoughts.

             The Woolworth Building looms into view, and Percival’s heart rate quickens in anticipation. He knows he has to point a wand at the owl carved over the entrance in order to transform it into headquarters. He doesn’t have a wand, and all attempts at performing magic in Credence’s body have failed. Maybe he can try to follow a wizard or witch into headquarters. Or is there a charm that prevents No-Maj from sneaking in on the tails of wizards and witches? Is Credence really a No-Maj? What if he’s a Squib? They’re virtually indistinguishable from each other, after all, and the report hadn’t mentioned anything about Credence’s real parentage. Do the same restrictions apply to Squibs?

           Percival is so lost in thought that he bumps into someone just outside the building. He opens his mouth to apologise, but a familiar voice gasps, “Credence!”  and he finds himself looking at Tina Goldstein, former Auror.

* * *

              Percival hasn’t seen Tina in a while, not since she was officially demoted. The Wand Permit Office is located somewhere on one of the lower floors, Percival isn’t sure which, while the Auror Office is on the fifty-sixth floor, just one floor below the President’s office. The metaphorical resonance of her fall from grace is not lost on him. He knows he played a part in this by refusing to overlook her actions, and now, standing in front of her in the body of the boy she had tried to save, he finds himself wondering if this is some sort of karmic retribution, especially since he can still feel the blood sticking to his shirt.

               “Tina,” He says.

               Tina’s eyes widen in surprise. “You remember me?”

             _Shit._ Percival has forgotten that the Obliviators would have wiped the memories of all the people on the scene, namely Credence, Mary Lou and his two sisters. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

              “I see.” Tina’s face falls, and they both stand awkwardly at the entrance until someone clears their throat and pushes between them. Percival remembers his desire to enter headquarters and tries to follow the person in, but Tina grabs his arm, holding him in place. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

              Percival considers his options. He had focused all his efforts on trying to get into the building, but he hadn’t really considered what to do after getting inside. Go to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, tell them that he’s stuck in the body of a No-Maj or Squib, and ask them for help in switching back? That sounds insane, especially since he has no way of proving his identity and he doesn’t know where his real body is. If he’s in Credence’s body, is Credence in his? What has Credence been doing in his body? He imagines Credence trying to cast spells and failing, Credence giving orders to the Aurors, and shudders. This boy could completely destroy everything he has worked so hard to build up. Worse still, he’s a Scourer. A downtrodden, abused one, but still a Scourer who has had anti-witchcraft sentiments drilled into him from a young age. Swapping bodies with Percival, a high-ranking government official, gives him an all-access pass to the inner workings of MACUSA. He’s probably all set to inform his mother, who will expose wizarding society. And it’ll all be Percival’s fault, because of this stupid body swap that he had brushed off as a dream. He is absolutely, completely fucked.

            “Credence, sshh, it’s okay, I just want to talk to you for a while,” Tina is saying. Percival realises that his panic is showing on his face. He has to tell someone. Tina is hardly the most credible source these days (and this, Percival knows, is his own fault. Karma really is a bitch), but he can start with her. If he can get her to believe him, he’ll have someone to back up his story.

                 “Let’s go somewhere else,” Tina whispers. “I’m not actually supposed to be talking to you.”

                _Oh, right._ Percival remembers giving that order himself. Tina’s continued employment in the Wand Permit Office is conditional on her staying away from the Second Salemers. How ironic that her continued concern for Credence is what is helping Percival out right now. He trails behind Tina, watching her weave through the crowd of New Yorkers heading to work.

              Tina leads him into an alley a fair distance away from the Woolworth Building, and Percival notes that there are bigger versions of the leaflets he is holding plastered on the brick walls. Perhaps Credence did this.

                 “How are you?”

                “Horrible,” Percival replies, and Tina looks surprised at the blunt answer. Credence would probably have said something like “fine”, but Percival needs to let her know that a huge security threat is looming on the horizon. “Listen, Tina, I’m not Credence. I’m Percival. Graves. I don’t know what happened, but I’m stuck in Credence’s body and I think he’s stuck in mine. We’ve switched places once before, and I’m afraid he might have already seen into MACUSA headquarters. You know his background, it’s a huge threat. You need to find him. He looks like me, so go inside and look for me in my office or something.”

                 Tina doesn’t answer immediately. She is looking at him as though he has sprouted a second head. Percival rushes on. “I know it sounds insane, but you have to believe me. I can’t perform magic in this body, I think it’s because he’s a No-Maj. I don’t even know how the switch happened in the first place, but when I’m in his body, I have to hand out leaflets and that woman is a holy terror. She could blow our entire society wide open. Please, Tina, you have to do something.”

               “I’ve never heard you say more than two words before,” Tina murmurs. Percival feels a jolt of frustration. Yes, Credence is the strong, silent type and listening to commands pour out of the mouth of someone who is usually meek and unimposing is odd, but has she been _listening_? “Tina—”

                   “Did your mother beat you again last night?”

                    _“What?”_

                    “I don’t know how you remember me, but if you do for whatever reason… Let me see your hands.”

                  Frustrated, Percival holds out his hands. To his utter surprise, Tina pulls out her wand and heals the fresh wounds. Tina just used magic in front of a No-Maj, _on_ the No-Maj. The very two things that had gotten her demoted in the first place, and a blatant breach in the Statute of Secrecy. He is so shocked, he forgot what he was planning to say.

                    “I wish I could do more for you, but I don’t have the authority to get involved in non-magical affairs. “ Tina looks frustrated. “I have even less authority now than I had before. But like I promised you then, it’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let her get away with this. I’ll get you and your sisters out of there somehow. I have to go to work now before my supervisor writes me up for being late. Stay safe.”

                    She strides out of the alley, pocketing her wand. Percival gapes at her retreating back, then looks back down at his hand. What the hell was _that_ about?

                   The rest of the day passes with Percival lurking around the Woolworth Building, trying unsuccessfully to identify wizards or witches and sneak in behind them. He keeps his eyes peeled for his fellow Aurors, but they must have already entered the building or left to go on fieldwork missions, and Sera herself makes use of the direct Floo connection between her house and her office. He enters and exits the Woolworth Building multiple times, but it doesn’t transform into headquarters, and the No-Maj security guard behind the desk is starting to give him suspicious looks, so he has no choice but to stop. As he walks away from the building, he reassures himself that if Credence had wanted to expose wizarding society, he would have done it the first time they swapped bodies. The fact that two days had passed between the first time and their current switch and nothing has happened means he’s probably not planning to tell. The morning sermon he had sat through had been more of the same thing; it hadn’t seemed like Mary Lou was planning anything either. He finds himself somewhat impressed that Credence is standing up to Mary Lou in his own, quiet way by not completely buying into her beliefs. He is also starting to grow curious about this boy, who is part of a group that Percival has only ever known of as one-dimensional villains, but is a lot more complex than he appears.

                 Percival remembers that Credence has a curfew, and it’s starting to get late. He looks down at the leaflets and groans. He has completely forgotten to give them out. He should probably dump them somewhere before he goes back.

                 Fortunately, Percival is able to get through dinner and the night devotion session without attracting any attention. Before he falls asleep, he sneaks a piece of paper and a pen and writes a note which he places by the side of Credence’s pillow. “Credence: What is your connection to Tina Goldstein? -Percival Graves.” If this intermittent swapping happens again, maybe this is one way they can communicate, and he can find out more about what Credence is doing when he’s in Percival’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a plan for the rest of the story, and i've started writing it! i just decided to upload what i have first because i work pretty slowly :') especially since for the note-writing part, it delves into epistolary fic territory and i have zero experience with that, so i'm quite nervous! Hope y'all don't mind some shameless self-promotion but i'd like to make friends, so here are some other places you can hit me up so we can scream about things together:  
> [My art Tumblr](http://mozaik-roru.tumblr.com/)  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/nomik0mare)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes the epistolary chapter;;; I'm so nervous because I've never tried something like this before but note-writing was a big part of kimi no na wa and one of my main inspirations for this fic. In the movie, the notes are written as memos on the characters' phones, but obviously they don't have phones here so they have to do it ~~like cavemen~~ on pen and paper HAHA

         Credence is more or less sure that the dreams about Percy aren’t dreams after all. The next time he woke up, it was to find a note in unfamiliar handwriting, asking him about his connection to someone called Tina Goldstein. He remembers the name Goldstein from the first not-dream, but he also feels like he has heard it somewhere else, and it is associated with something good. Most interesting of all, the note was signed “Percival Graves”. Percy is real, and for some reason, he has been imagining himself in Percy’s place. He remembers Sera saying that he can do magic, it’s just erratic, and wonders if that applies to him or if she was just talking about Percy. He decides to write back, and ask Percy questions about magic. What he has seen of that world has been scary but fascinating, and he wants to learn more.

* * *

            Dear Mr. Graves,

            The name Tina Goldstein sounds familiar to me, but I can’t quite remember where I heard it. The last time I dreamt (or hallucinated?) that I was you, Sera said that she might bear a grudge against you. I don’t think that’s possible, though. I feel like she is a good person. I hope you don’t mind me asking you some questions about magic? What other spells are there apart from Wingardium Leviosa? I would like to try them out.

 

             Yours Sincerely,

             Credence Barebone

                                                                               ******************************************

          Percival stomps back to his room in a foul mood. Before he could Floo to work, Art and Mal had informed him that Sera had given them strict orders to keep him at home until he felt better, no matter how much he complained. She has disconnected his fireplace from the Floo Network, and ordered the Aurors not to send him any owls related to work. She has bewitched the Wampus statue in his office to chase him out if he shows up at work, and that would be humiliating for everyone at MACUSA to witness, wouldn’t it, Percival? Now he’s stuck at home when he’s feeling perfectly fine. But as he stews over the unfairness of it all, he realises it might be better this way. Credence would completely ruin his image, and there’s also the tiny matter that he can’t do magic. If only there was a way to control when these swaps happen so he can go to work when he’s in his own body.

         He spots a piece of parchment on his desk. The handwriting reminds him of that style Sera had called “eight-year-old-cursive”, and basically confirms that Credence has been switching bodies with him. He might as well write back, since it’s not like he has anything better to do.

* * *

            Dear Credence,

            Yes, I am indeed Percival Graves. I am not sure what exactly is happening, but we appear to be exchanging places on and off, and I have experienced your life. I need to ask you a few questions, though. Do you really believe witches should be exterminated? Do you know anything about your real parentage? Can you perform magic? 

 

            Yours Sincerely,

            Percival Graves

                                                                                ****************************************** 

            Dear Mr. Graves,

            I thought it was a dream at first, but it does seem like we’re exchanging places. It seems like you’re not allowed to go to work. Your talking portraits, Mal and Art, yelled at me when I tried to leave the house, and I managed to turn the fire green but when I stepped into it, it didn’t start spinning.  I ended up reading in your study. You have many interesting books; I especially like the one on great wizards in the 19th century. I didn’t know Herman Melville was a wizard. Is hiding in plain sight like that very common?

            I have been told all my life that witches exist, and they want to wipe us normal people out, so we need to strike the moment we identify them. But when I was in your body, I didn’t get the sense that witches are planning to destroy us. Unless there are evil witches I don’t know about? I haven’t told anyone about this, because I thought it was a dream at first and dreaming such things is a sign of sinfulness. Since you have switched bodies with me before, you probably know sinfulness is frowned upon in my house. No, I don’t know anything about my real parents. As far back as I can remember, it has always been Ma. When she doesn’t mind me calling her Ma, that is. She always said my real mother was wicked and unnatural.

             I tried to perform Wingardium Leviosa, but the first time I did it, I set one of your cushions on fire and the second time, it was a piece of paper. Art told me it was supposed to levitate objects, but it doesn’t seem to be working for me. Sera said it counted as magic, but I’m not sure if it’s because I was in your body at that time.

 

             Yours Sincerely,

             Credence Barebone

                                                                                ****************************************** 

             Dear Credence,

             Only being able to answer these notes when a swap occurs is very inconvenient, especially since I’m under house arrest when I’m back in my own body. But I find myself looking forward to reading your answers. In response to your previous note, yes, I’m not allowed to go to work. Could you please tell me what exactly you did to get me chased out of the office?

            Yes, Herman Melville was a wizard, but he has integrated into the No-Maj (that’s our word for non-magical people ~~like you~~ ) community, so he is more well-known there. We don’t do it out of ulterior motives as your mother would have you believe. Sometimes witches or wizards fall in love with a non-magical person, and in order to marry them, they integrate into the No-Maj community. There is no desire to spread wickedness. Their motives are pure. Of course there are evil witches and wizards, but evil is subjective, and as head of what is essentially the magical police, I am in charge of enforcing law and order and ensuring that their crimes don’t inconvenience non-magical people as well. We don’t wish to destroy non-magical people. In fact, all we want is to be left alone. 

            I must confess that I get somewhat jealous when a swap occurs, knowing that you’re resting in my house while I have to do chores and run around the city spreading ridiculous messages. Not being able to use magic in your body is highly inconvenient, which is why I asked if you have ever performed magic or if you know anything about your real parentage. To be frank, your life sucks and your mother is an absolute terror. Have you ever considered running away? How old are you? Have you ever received a letter from a place called Ilvermorny?

             I’m not sure what it means that you can perform magic in my body while I can’t seem to perform magic in yours. I don’t know how exactly this swap works—on one hand, we appear to retain our own personalities and memories, but on the other, we are limited by the body we are in. I can’t be completely sure of this, but I suspect you might be what we call a Squib. That means someone born to magical parents but can’t do magic themselves. It’s a genetic quirk—you might have heard of Gregor Mendel and his work on dominant and recessive genes. It would explain why you can perform faulty magic in my body—the magic in my body allows you to channel it, but in my case, I can’t perform magic in yours because you can’t actually do it yourself. This is just a theory, of course, since I’m working with limited information. Please take care of yourself when we switch back.

 

             Yours Sincerely,

             Percival Graves

                                                                               ****************************************** 

            Dear Mr. Graves,

           I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you kicked out of the office. I had a meeting with Sera and Headmistress Macgouirk but I didn’t understand what they were talking about and Sera thought I might have been Confuddled. She said that the first time we switched places as well. That’s why she wants you to rest at home. I really didn't mean to do that, I would have done my best to play along if only I understood what they were talking about.

            I didn’t realise witches could marry non-magical people. It does sound pure, like this happens out of love rather than to spread sin. Maybe that was how it was with my real parents? I’m sorry, I’ve never actually heard of Gregor Mendel. Is he a wizard too?

          Ilvermorny is a school for wizards, right? And Headmistress Macgouirk is the headmistress there. I’ve never gotten anything from them, but I’ve always wanted to go to a real school. I’ve been home-schooled all my life, and I’m eighteen this year. I know that’s probably too old for normal schools.

            I don’t think I could ever run away. I can’t survive on my own, and my sisters need me. I don’t much like my life either, but receiving your notes is one bright spot in my day.

            A Squib? That does sound possible. I guess it doesn’t really matter since Ma would kill me if I ever cast a spell, but I wish I could do magic. I tried a few other spells I read about in your books and asked Art for the hand movements when they weren’t stated, but none of them have ever worked the way they were supposed to. Like Accio didn’t cause things to fly towards me. I think I might have destroyed one of your other cushions. I’m sorry.

 

              Yours Sincerely,

              Credence Barebone

                                                                             ******************************************

              Dear Credence,

              I see. It’s understandable that Sera thought you were Confunded. You must have been completely confused the first time the swap happened. I know I was when I first woke up in your body. Don’t worry about what they were talking about, and don’t worry about the cushions either. I can always get new ones.

           Technically, interaction between magical and non-magical people is forbidden. We have a law against it, but we can’t isolate ourselves completely, so a limited degree of interaction is condoned. I suppose many of these relationships start out this way. No, Gregor Mendel isn’t a wizard, but I believe I have some books that build on his ideas of genetics and heredity in my study. Feel free to look for them.

              Yes, Ilvermorny is a school for wizards. It’s good to know the Headmistress is still there. Magical children get their letters when they turn eleven and study there till they turn seventeen. You’re just a little older than a final-year student. The statue in my office, which you might have seen when you went to MACUSA, is of a Wampus, one of the houses in Ilvermorny.

              You seem like a person with a good heart. I can tell that Modesty loves you even though you’re not related, and I’m sure Chastity cares for you in her own way. But it’s a pity you won’t consider running away. You deserve better than this. 

              If your real mother was magical, as you say, I might be able to find records of her in the registry. I know you’ve said you don’t remember anything about her, but a name might go a long way, if you can find old adoption papers or things like that.

 

                  Yours Sincerely,

                  Percival Graves

                                                                             *******************************************

                  Dear Mr. Graves,

                 I think I remember who Tina Goldstein is. She came up to me one day and healed my hands with magic. I think she did something similar for me in the past. If I’m a Squib, she’s technically not breaking the law, right? After all, you mentioned that some magical people end up getting married to non-magical people. I don’t want to marry Miss Tina, but I don’t want her to get into trouble either.

               Ilvermorny sounds really interesting, and I found your old textbooks in the study. I actually managed to get a few spells to work after going over the fundamentals. Wingardium Leviosa worked once, and I think I managed to cast Expelliarmus. But I didn’t realise that without a target, it would just propel the nearest object off the table. I’m sorry I broke your vase. I couldn’t get the Repairing Charm I found in another book to work. I’m not sure what it means that some spells work for me and others don’t.

                 I think I’m too big of a coward to run away. If I can’t survive on my own, I’ll have to come back, and it’ll be worse if I do. I can’t take my sisters with me. They might not even want to come. There are so many things to consider, and I can’t even surpass the first hurdle, to build enough courage to consider running.

               I can try to find adoption papers. They would most likely be kept in Ma’s room, so I would have to be very careful about sneaking in there to search. Thank you for trying to help.

 

                  Yours Sincerely,

                  Credence Barebone

                                                                               *******************************************

                  Dear Credence,

                I suppose since you appear to have vague memories of Tina, and she has performed magic in front of you again, there’s no point in hiding it from you anymore. Tina Goldstein is a former colleague of mine. She was demoted for performing magic in front of No-Maj, including you. I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself though.

               I’m not very sure what it means that you’ve managed to get some spells to work either. Maybe you’re not a Squib? But I can’t perform magic in your body. Have you ever performed accidental magic when you were younger? Caused things to appear out of nowhere, made something change into something else, things like that?

                  I don’t think you’re a coward. You have to be brave to have survived in that house for so long. And I’m not trying to pressure you to run, it’s ultimately your choice.

                   Be very careful when you’re looking around.

 

                   Yours Sincerely,

                   Percival Graves

                                                                                *******************************************

                   Percival never received an answer to this note, and the swaps stopped as suddenly as they had started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I ended up name-dropping actual people. I'm a pleb when it comes to literature--I read a lot, but hardly anything that can be considered a classic or modern lit, so I've never actually read Moby Dick. But I thought Herman Melville seemed like an ok dude. Was originally gonna go with Edgar Allan Poe because I thought his works seemed dark and edgy, the sort of thing that would be banned in Credence's house, but it turns out Poe's wife [was his first cousin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Eliza_Clemm_Poe) so everything I'd written about wizards marrying, then integrating No-Maj society wouldn't work :')  
> Also, Gregor Mendel and his experiments are one of the few things I still remember from secondary school biology. I struggled with science and math in general but I actually understood this topic and some academics have written papers about "magical genes" when talking about dominant/recessive alleles. I used to think about how magic could be inherited in these terms as well. Which just goes to show how a new generation of adults who have been raised on Harry Potter are now shitposting at university level. Heckin' cool.


	7. Chapter 7

            “You sure you’re ready to go back to work?” Mal looks like she would jump out of her portrait and hustle him back to his room if she could.

            “I’m well-rested and not Confunded,” Percival says, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. He had been looking forward to Credence’s answer about accidental magic and the possibility that he might be able to find out the name of his real mother. He had also been hoping to try performing magic in Credence’s body again—with Credence’s sudden breakthrough in managing certain spells, there was a possibility that he might not be a Squib. But how had Ilvermorny and even MACUSA missed him? If he could just get more information from Credence, these questions could be answered. But then the swaps stopped. By the time they started writing to each other, they had been swapping every night, and Percival had grown used to falling asleep in one bed and waking up in another, so it had been a surprise for him to wake up to the note he had written without any sign that Credence had read it. He waited and waited, and by the time a week had passed without any more swaps occurring, he wondered if something had happened to Credence. He didn’t have any work to take his mind off worrying about Credence, and stewing at home with only his thoughts for company was starting to eat at him. He decided to ignore Mal and Art’s nagging and go to work. Percival had dipped his hand into the Floo Powder, about to throw a handful into the fireplace, when he remembered Sera had disconnected his fireplace from the Floo Network. He would have to Apparate there instead. Getting out of the house would also allow him to swing by the church and check on Credence during lunchtime. He remembers, from his own experience in Credence’s body, that Credence and Chastity, being the older siblings, take turns preparing lunch for the orphans. That would be easier than wandering around the city hoping to bump into Credence.

             “I’ll let Sera be the judge of that.” Mal continues to frown at him.

             “Sera will agree that I’m fit for work.” Percival dusts off his hands and heads for the door.

             “I bet you’ll be back in half an hour,” Art calls snidely after him.

* * *

             Percival is about to enter the Auror Office when he remembers that Sera has enchanted the Wampus statue to chase him out if he shows up. He isn’t sure exactly what sort of spells she’s put on it, and he doesn’t fancy causing a huge racket in the office first thing in the morning. This means his first stop is her office, in order to show her he’s in perfect condition. He takes the elevator up to her office and subjects himself to her scrutiny and questions, before she concurs that he _does_ seem more put together than the last time she saw him. She strides into the Auror Office with him, giving the Aurors who have been lounging around the shock of their lives, and mutters something under her breath, undoing the charms on the statue. He ignores her stern instructions not to overwork himself and promptly goes outside to get reports from his Aurors on what he has missed during his time away.

           The dark force is still rampaging around, leaving destruction, bewildered No-Maj and frustrated Obliviators in its wake, and the investigation team is no closer to pinning down who or what is causing it. There is no pattern to be found in the places it targets; wizards have been inconvenienced as well since in New York City, there is no such thing as a village or area exclusive to magical folk. The Obliviators obviously don’t have to make them forget anything, but have to seek their cooperation in reinforcing the story they sell to the No-Maj. Because there is no pattern to the attacks, the Aurors can’t scope out potential sites and lie in wait for the person or thing. They usually only get there after an alarm in Headquarters is tripped, signalling an unusual level of magical activity in a certain part of the city. By then, there is no trace of anything left, except for destroyed buildings. However, wizards interviewed by the Aurors have told them that they can sense raw magical power overflowing from this force.

            Percival retreats back to his office, mulling over this information. This level of uncontrolled magic is highly unusual, because accidental magic among young, untrained children is contained to small-scale incidents. To his knowledge, no child has ever destroyed a building, not even at Ilvermorny, where you would expect things like that to be commonplace with so many young people in the midst of learning how to control their abilities and experimenting with spells and potions. The Aurors on the case have spoken to people from the Magical Creatures division, who told them that no beast they knew could cause damage like this. So they’re essentially back to square one, with no clue who the perpetrators could be and no idea how to track them.

              Thinking about uncontrolled magic makes him think of Credence. Maybe it’s because Credence has been on his mind ever since the swaps stopped, but Percival remembers Credence’s notes about how he had ended up setting things on fire instead of levitating them. Wasn’t this a manifestation of uncontrolled magic? Could this destruction be caused by someone’s magic going out of control? Could it be _Credence?_ But there was no way to know. He had theorised that Credence was a Squib, but Credence had managed to perform magic, even though more complicated spells were still beyond him. Maybe he should meet Credence in person and get him to try and perform a spell, now that they’re both back in their own bodies. That’s the most straightforward way to find out if Credence is magical or not, since try as he might, Percival can’t think of a reason that could explain why he can’t seem to perform magic in Credence’s body, nor why Credence seems to have fallen off both MACUSA and Ilvermorny’s radar.

                  _Or maybe you just want to see him, stop lying to yourself._

                 Lunchtime couldn’t come soon enough. Percival slips out of the office, ignoring the surprised looks on the Aurors’ faces, and strides to an alley where he can Apparate to the church. He casts a Disillusionment Charm on himself, not wanting anyone to see him loitering around. When he peers in through a window, he sees a long line of children holding bowls, and Credence, Chastity and Modesty standing behind a huge metal tureen, ladling soup into their bowls. Percival remembers this from his own time in Credence’s body—he had been all thumbs, struggling not to spill soup onto himself or onto the children. He had been grossly unprepared for this form of labour, and Modesty had asked him, more than once, what was wrong with him. Looking back, Percival realised he had probably had a much harder time adapting to Credence’s lifestyle than Credence had in adapting to his. He still didn’t understand why they’d started switching bodies, unless the divine being who had arranged all this wanted him to sympathise with non-magical people, but at least Credence could still do magic when he was in Percival’s body, sort of. Percival was completely handicapped in Credence’s body, and he obviously couldn’t perform magic in front of a bunch of Scourers.

               Percival hadn’t even realised how tense he had been until he finally laid eyes on Credence. He had worried that something might have happened which stopped them from switching bodies, so seeing the boy alive came as a huge relief. It was also rather strange to be looking at a face he both knew and didn’t know at the same time. Credence tended to hunch over, like he was trying to make himself look smaller. Percival was pretty sure he hadn’t carried himself like that when he was in Credence’s body. Credence also had trouble maintaining eye contact with people, even harmless ones like these orphans and Modesty. No wonder Modesty had been so surprised watching him shove leaflets at strangers. His hands shook slightly, but he didn’t spill a drop of soup. Percival tries to imagine him casting a spell and fails. Is he barking up the wrong tree?

              When the last of their orphans have collected their soup, Chastity and Modesty serve themselves, but Credence walks in the direction of the kitchen, holding the tureen. Percival can’t see into the kitchen from where he is standing, but he hears the sound of running water and guesses Credence is washing up. Why isn’t he eating?

                 Suddenly, footsteps sound close to Percival, catching him off guard. He swears as his foot collides with the brick wall of the church exterior, and when he looks up, he sees Credence with a black garbage bag in his arms, looking around and frowning. Percival remembers that he is invisible, but this is his chance. Moving away from the window, he undoes the charm. “Hello for the first time.”

* * *

                   Credence looks startled at Percival’s sudden appearance, and it takes a little while for Percival’s features to register. Percival watches recognition dawn on his face and thinks he might be able to understand why some wizards and witches risk everything to get involved with No-Maj. Everything about Credence, from the way his mouth quirks up in an uncertain smile to the way he tries to stand up a little straighter, is beautiful. He has never seen Credence in the flesh before today, but he feels like he has known Credence forever. And maybe he has.

                    “Mr. Graves,” Credence says, and Percival thinks his name has never sounded nicer coming from anyone else. “What are you doing here?”

                   Percival has a perfectly legitimate reason for showing up at the church, one that will put to rest once and for all any lingering questions he has about Credence’s magical status, but the answer he gives is the unvarnished truth that he thinks Credence deserves to hear. “I was worried about you after the switching stopped. And I wanted to see you with my own eyes.”

                   Credence blushes slightly and looks down at the floor. “I’m alive. I don’t know what happened with the switching and why it stopped either. But I’m glad you came to see me.”

                   “I was so worried when you didn’t answer my note—”Thinking about the contents of the note reminds Percival of the actual reason he had made this trip here. Tearing his eyes away from Credence’s lips, he pulls out his wand and steps closer to Credence. “Remember how I thought you were a Squib but you were able to perform some spells in my body? I want you to try casting something with this wand. If you can perform magic in your own body, it means you’re magical. But you’ve never received a letter to go to Ilvermorny. I don’t understand.”

                  Credence looks up at the wand with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. He makes to reach for it, but suddenly remembers that he is holding a garbage bag. “I can’t do it now. I have to get back.”

                       Percival realises that their current location right outside the church probably isn’t the best place for an impromptu spellcasting session either. “Okay. Let’s meet somewhere else, later today. Can you do that?”

                       “I’ll try to sneak out after dinner.”

                     They make arrangements to meet in an alley not too far from the church, so Credence won’t have far to travel. Percival can sense that Credence is terrified at the prospect of sneaking out, but also relieved at not having to perform magic straight away. He thinks Credence might be really worried that he won’t be able to perform magic in his own body, meaning he’s a Squib. That would be painful for him, after being exposed to magic. He finds himself hoping that Credence will be able to cast spells successfully.

                    _But what does that mean for my investigation? Whether or not Credence can perform magic has no bearing on this dark force. It’s supposed to be overwhelmingly powerful. If Credence was that powerful, we would have picked up on him long ago._

Percival makes his way back to MACUSA in a daze, but he isn’t completely unobservant. He spots a familiar-looking grey coat heading in the opposite direction, and sighs when he realises who the person is and what she’s planning to do. He needs to have words with her.

                      “I wasn’t aware the Wand Permit Office had fieldwork assignments too.”

                  Tina jumps at the sound of Percival’s voice. “Director Graves,” she says neutrally. But her body language gives her away. She is biting her lip and scuffing one boot against the ground. She looks like a child caught doodling in class when she’s supposed to be taking notes. “I’m on my way to meet someone. A friend from England. He’s a magizoologist visiting New York for a bit. He’s not planning to stay long, so I need to go…”

                       “Does that friend happen to be waiting for you at the Second Salemers’ church?”

                       Tina blinks rapidly, but doesn’t say anything.

                      Percival sighs. “Look, Tina, I know you feel very strongly about Credence, but you can’t go around performing magic in front of him. Rappaport’s Law,  not to mention the International Statute of Secrecy, exist for a reason. His people are dangerous. There’s a reason we keep tabs on them instead of just letting them spout their nonsense.”

                     “But I can’t just sit by and let that woman do as she pleases to those kids!” Tina bursts out, then realises that this is as good as a confession that she is still keeping track of the Second Salemers’ activities against Percival’s orders.

                      “I know it sucks for him and his sisters. But I can’t imagine going to the No-Maj police with vague suspicions like this. You know Credence won’t talk to them, they’ll have all sorts of questions about where you got the information, and you can hardly tell them you attacked their mother with magic. This doesn’t count as necessary interaction with No-Maj.”

                       “I can just say I witnessed her beating him—wait, how did you know I was planning to go to the No-Maj police?”

                       Percival clamps his lips shut as he realises that he’s not the only one who has let vital information slip.

                       “What are you doing here, anyway?” Tina crosses her arms. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting at home? I heard you had a breakdown or something.”

                      “I did not have a breakdown, and I was investigating the dark force,” Percival says tightly. She doesn’t need to know that he has just come back from meeting with Credence and has another meeting with the boy lined up in the evening.

                       “Speaking of the dark force, I’ve been talking to my friend about it.” Percival barely has time to feel exasperated that Tina can’t seem to let her Auror duties go when she hits him with a knockout punch. “He thinks all the destruction is being caused by an Obscurus.”

                        “That’s impossible.” Percival can feel a headache coming on. “When was the last time an Obscurus was documented, anyway?”

                     “My friend found one when he was in Sudan just three months ago.” Tina raises her chin defiantly. “I know you thought I was lying about having a magizoologist friend, but Newt exists. He’s been travelling the world documenting and observing magical creatures, and he’s writing a book to educate people about them. He says no creature could cause damage on this scale without leaving some form of a trail behind.”

                        “That’s what the people over at Magical Creatures said,” Percival concedes grudgingly. “But there’s no way there’s an Obscurial in America. We don’t interact with the No-Maj unless it’s strictly necessary so our kids aren’t subjected to torment and ridicule the way they were in the past, and we’ve got a great wizarding school to educate them once they reach a certain age. There isn’t any need for a kid to suppress their magic now.”

                        “Unless they live with a bitch like Mary Lou Barebone.” Tina glares at him. “Just because Credence is a No-Maj doesn’t mean he’s any less worthy of attention or protection. If MACUSA isn’t going to look out for him, I’ll make sure the No-Maj police do.” She turns on her heel and stalks away, continuing in the direction of the church.

                      Percival groans. Tina is obviously still planning to keep up with her personal investigation, and now he has to contend with the possibility that they’re dealing with an Obscurial. He needs a good, strong drink.

* * *

                      Later that day, Percival stands in the alley, staring idly at the anti-witchcraft posters that the Second Salemers have plastered to the walls. No wonder they’re always buying ink and paper. Mary Lou must really want to make sure everyone, from the businessmen in their bespoke suits and posh offices to the homeless people scrounging for food in the trash and sleeping in alleyways, sees these messages. He is wondering how one of the posters would look in his office as an ironic keepsake when Credence appears next to him, moving so silently that Percival could almost believe he had Apparated here.

                      “Mr. Graves.”

                       Percival starts, then relaxes. “Wow. You could give some of my Aurors lessons in stealth.”

                     Credence shrugs, his gaze hovering somewhere around Percival’s waist. Dusk has fallen, and the only illumination comes from streetlights outside the alley and the few stars twinkling overhead. Percival knows this will be over in a matter of seconds—pass Credence the wand and watch him cast or fail to cast a spell. Credence can’t stay long anyway. But what happens after that? If Credence can’t cast a spell, and the body switching has stopped, there’s no reason for Percival to keep hanging around. It’ll only raise suspicions if he’s spotted. If Credence can cast a spell, Percival will have to take him to MACUSA for testing, in order to see the extent of his abilities. Maybe he has a minuscule amount of magical power but not enough to be harnessed and trained, and that’s why he was allowed to stay a part of No-Maj society and never received a letter to Ilvermorny. Either way, he won’t see Credence again, since the testing isn’t conducted by his department. Percival doesn’t want this to be a goodbye. He finds himself making small talk, like Tina had when she had believed him to be Credence. “How are you?”

                      Credence is about to say “fine”—Percival can tell, from the way his mouth moves, but the word just won’t come out. Perhaps he can’t bring himself to lie. If there’s anyone whose life is _not_ fine, it’s Credence. Percival suddenly feels a huge rush of sympathy for him. “Okay, never mind, you don’t have to answer that. Just let me know, are you in any pain?” When Percival was in Credence’s body, he didn’t go out of his way to antagonise Mary Lou, but he also did his best to convey, through body language, that he wasn’t going to take any crap from her. It seemed to work, since she hadn’t tried anything with him after he stared her down that first time. He was sure that if she was taking her anger out on Credence once they swapped back, Credence would have said something in his notes, asking Percival not to provoke her or something like that. Hopefully he had managed to permanently scare her off.

                     Credence shakes his head, but one of his fists tightens around the sleeve of his blazer, and Percival has a feeling the long sleeves are hiding wounds that were created during the week they stopped swapping places. Anger floods through him, and he finds himself thinking Tina went too easy on Mary Lou when she attacked her. His hands ball up into fists and Credence follows the movement out of the corner of his eyes. With a supreme effort, Percival forces himself to calm down. He pulls out his wand and asks to see the wounds. Credence shakes his head again, and Percival realises how awkward it would be for both of them if Credence were to start stripping in the alley, since the wounds are probably scattered all over his body. He sighs and passes the wand to Credence instead. “Okay then. Let’s do this. Try one of the spells you say you managed to cast successfully.”

                     Credence grips the wand, looking around for a target. Percival guesses he is about to try Wingardium Leviosa, since it’s one of the most basic first-year spells and he recalls Credence saying he had gotten it to work before. Credence turns the wand on a dustbin and says the incantation, but nothing happens. He tries again, then a third time, but the dustbin refuses to budge. Percival can sense Credence’s frustration and panic, and his heart tightens at the prospect of having to tell Credence that he may be a Squib after all. He hurriedly undoes his collar pins and holds them out. “Try it on these. They’re lighter.”

                        _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_

                       The collar pins remain in Percival’s hand, with no sign of movement. Credence’s breathing is growing quicker, and without Percival’s prompting, he tries another spell. “ _Expelliarmus_!”

                       No jet of scarlet light comes out of the wand, and the collar pins stay stubbornly in place. Credence starts to alternate between pointing the wand at the dustbin and the collar pins, his hand movements becoming more erratic with each failed attempt. The trapped expression on his face is growing even more pronounced, and Percival wants to tell him to calm down, it doesn’t matter if he’s a Squib, look at how many amazing inventions the No-Maj have come up with in lieu of magic, but he can’t find a way to say it without sounding condescending or—worse still—overly sympathetic, which is something Credence would loathe. He has a feeling this is more than just not being able to perform magic—Credence is made to feel unwelcome and unloved in his home. If he is magical, at least he’ll have a place he belongs in the form of a community of other wizards and witches. If he can’t do magic, he doesn’t belong anywhere.

                     “ _Expellia—Expel—Ex—”_ Credence is starting to have difficulty saying the spell, and Percival rushes towards him, wanting to take him in his arms, when he realises Credence is shaking, and something like black smoke seems to be pouring out of his body. The air also seems to be vibrating with magic, like a brewing thunderstorm, but as far as Percival knows, there is no one here except him and Credence. Credence drops to the ground, still shaking, and Percival drops to his knees too, ignoring the pain as the gravel digs into his skin. He puts an arm around Credence, trying to hold him up, but when Credence looks up at him, Percival sees that his eyes have gone ghostly white. Before he can do or say anything else, there is a huge explosion that sends him flying across the alley and into the wall at the end of it. White spots dance across his eyes and through the daze, he sees what looks like a huge black cloud rising into the air, upending the dustbin and sending the trash inside it flying everywhere. The huge black cloud rises higher, and there is a metallic rending sound and the sound of breaking glass as one of the lamp-posts collapses and smashes into something. Alarms start to blare, people start to scream, and somewhere amidst the chaos, Percival’s own words come back to haunt him.

                          _No way there’s an Obscurial in America. There isn’t any need for a kid to suppress their magic now._

_Unless they live with a bitch like Mary Lou Barebone,_ Tina had said, and she had been right.

                        _Credence is the Obscurial._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess this is where the "canon divergence" part comes in :') Slightly irrelevant/fangirling note, but [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=243iMt5Ff34) is one of my favourite covers of Zenzenzense which i listened to even before i watched the movie!! The singers, Soraru and Mafumafu, have collaborated on many songs ranging from Vocaloid to Anisong to original works. [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Nj5BZMJ_h8) is another example of a duet by the two of them! I have a feeling my end notes will end up as a place for music recommendations, lol.


	8. Chapter 8

         Percival hasn’t had to run like this in years. His leg muscles are screaming for mercy and every breath he takes only sharpens the pain in his side, but he forces himself onwards, following the trail of destruction left by Credence. His wand, which Credence had dropped when he changed into his Obscurus form, is clutched in his hand. As he runs, he berates himself for not realising this sooner. The conditions Credence lived in were just right for the formation of an Obscurus. A stringently anti-magic environment which caused him to repress his powers to the extent he forgot he had them to begin with, most likely because any form of accidental magic would have brought with it severe punishment. It explained why he hadn’t been able to cast magic while in Credence’s body—Credence’s body was just too used to repressing magic. Credence had been able to perform magic in Percival’s body, but it was erratic and he couldn’t channel it properly through Percival’s wand. If he had been repressing his magic, it also explained why both MACUSA and Ilvermorny hadn’t picked up on him. The only thing he didn’t understand was how Credence had managed to survive for so long. Weren’t Obscurials supposed to have very short lifespans?

          Percival comes to an abrupt halt, gasping for air. A huge billboard has fallen onto the street, blocking the way forward. He blasts it aside, then continues to run. Members of the investigation team who had stayed late at work were probably already consulting a map of the city, trying to trace a path and figure out where the dark force would end up. The prospect of an entire team of Aurors descending on Credence with their wands drawn makes Percival run faster. Thinking about the Aurors reminds him of the document Sera had showed him—the one Credence had signed when he was in Percival’s body back when the swaps first began, authorising the use of lethal force against the source of the attacks. Credence has signed his own death warrant.              

            _Fuck._

Percival looks up at the deceptively empty sky. If it weren’t for the sounds of screams and crashes in the distance, this could have passed for a normal night in the city. He had been a fool to think he could have kept up with Credence on foot. He should have just Apparated after him. Maybe that stint in a body that couldn’t perform magic has affected him more than he believed. But where would an emotionally distraught boy go to seek sanctuary when the entire city has been nothing but hostile to him? Should Percival go back to the office after all, take stock of the situation and command the Aurors so they don’t end up using lethal force? But what if Credence attacks them? They would be justified in defending themselves, Credence would be dead, and it would all be Percival’s fault for setting him off in the first place by asking him to try performing magic.

           “Director Graves!”

           For a moment, Percival thinks he might be hallucinating. But he isn’t. Tina is standing a short distance away from him, with a man in a long blue coat. She runs over to him, dragging the man behind her. “I figured out who the Obscurial is, but _please_ , Director, don’t let the Aurors attack him, he just needs time to calm down. Give Newt a chance to talk to him. Newt’s handled an Obscurial before, when he was in Sudan.” She gestures to the man in the blue coat.

            “I couldn’t save her, though,” The man says quietly.

           That statement, plus Newt’s refusal to look him in the eye, doesn’t particularly inspire confidence in Percival. But he is so grateful that someone else wants to talk to Credence instead of shooting him down, he brushes away Newt’s words. “Just try. I was the one who set him off so he won’t listen to me. But he might listen to Tina. He likes her.”

           “What do you mean, you were the one who set him off?” Tina narrows her eyes at Percival, but Newt interrupts, “There’s no time. We need to find out where he is and talk him down before he destroys more things. He’s a danger both to himself and to the people of this city.” He grabs both Tina and Percival’s hands, and the three of them Disapparate.

            Newt takes them to the roof of a nearby building, and Percival realises what his plan is. Since Credence is flying around, dive-bombing streets and buildings at random, they can keep track of his actions from a high vantage point. Percival isn’t sure how they’re going to talk to him when he won’t stay still long enough to listen, but he supposes that’s something for Newt and Tina to worry about. _His_ job is to stay out of the way while they negotiate with him, and stop the Aurors from attacking. He tells Tina this, and she looks startled. “You’re not with the Aurors?”

         “I wasn’t in the office. I was talking to him alone. The investigation team has probably set off, thinking they’ll meet me on location. He’ll have to stop sometime. The moment he does, though, they’ll Apparate straight there and hit him with a dozen curses. I can try to set up a barrier but a small one over a limited space won’t take long for them to tear down. I don’t want to fight them, but if it comes down to it—”

             “He’s stopping,” Newt interrupts, and both Percival and Tina squint into the distance. The force does indeed appear to be slowing down, and as they watch, it plunges to the ground, causing a fresh bout of screams and alarms to tear through the air. “I’m not sure where that is, though, you’ll have to guide me via Apparition.”

              “It’s the City Hall subway station,” Tina says, and grabs their hands. “Let’s go.”

* * *

               Newt and Tina sprint down the stairs, while Percival stays behind to create a barrier over the entrance. He isn’t sure how long this will hold the Aurors off, especially since there are so many of them, they can just throw their magic at it to break it down, but it might buy Newt and Tina some extra time. As Newt and Tina take off running down the station tracks, following the trail of smoke that appears to be sliding along the walls, he creates another barrier at the foot of the stairs. Two barriers will have to do for now. Percival isn’t sure if his presence will be counter-productive to their efforts, but he wants to see Credence and apologise for pushing him. He follows behind, keeping an ear out for the sound of Aurors storming into the station.

               Newt and Tina come to an abrupt halt halfway down the tracks. Percival ducks behind a pillar, watching them take turns talking to Credence. He can’t hear the actual words, but he notices how Newt tries to make himself appear less threatening by hunching over, speaking slowly and keeping his hands raised so Credence can see he isn’t armed. Newt is treating Credence like a cornered animal rather than a volatile criminal holding people at wandpoint. In some ways, Credence is both. All the torment and anguish he has experienced in the past has finally exploded out of him, and now he’s holding the entire city hostage.

           Tina glances over at Percival, sees him watching and gestures for him to come over. Percival is surprised. Won’t seeing him just serve to antagonise Credence even more? But she keeps waving insistently at him, so he strides over. Percival catches the tail end of Newt’s words. “—a wonderful wizard, once you’ve been trained up.”

                “What?” Percival hisses at Tina.

            “We’ve managed to get him back to his human form, but…” Tina bites her lip and glances over at Credence, who is huddled on the tracks. “We don’t understand what he’s talking about. He keeps saying he can’t do magic, something about swapping bodies with you, and how he messed up your life because he can’t do magic. I’m afraid that if we keep going down this path, he’ll go off again. I think it would be better for him to hear that he can do magic from you directly. He didn’t mess up your life, right?”

               “Not at all.” Percival thinks it’s more likely that _he_ was the one who had messed up Credence’s life, since he had been so unused to doing things without magic and had been behaving so out of character, it had probably made things worse for him once they switched back. “I’ll talk to him.” Remembering how Newt had tried to make himself look smaller, Percival steps in front of Credence and drops to his knees, remembering how he had done something similar in the alley just before Credence went off. That feels like a lifetime ago now. “Hey.”

              “M-M-Mister Graves,” Credence whimpers. His eyes are back to their usual shade of dark brown, but there are still a few tendrils of smoke lingering around him. “I’m so sorry, I d-don’t know what happened but the n-next time I opened my eyes I was here instead of there with you… Wh-what are you doing here?”

                 “Searching for you, of course,” Percival says. “I didn’t know this before, but I’ve been searching for you my entire life. I couldn’t let someone as special as you slip through my grasp just when I’d found you.”

                  “I’m not special at all.” Credence buries his face in his hands. “I’m a Squib.”

                 “You’re not. Didn’t Newt and Tina tell you? You have powerful magic. You’re just having difficulty channelling it properly because you’ve grown so used to holding it back. And it’s a huge pity that you’ve had to hold it back all this time, but it’s not too late to start learning. I can teach you all you need to know, if you want to learn from me. Or you can go to Ilvermorny. It’s your choice. You’re going to have all the choices that you weren’t allowed to make in the past.”

                   “But the spell—Expelliarmus—”

                 “It didn’t work because you’re still subconsciously holding back. You’ve spent eighteen years being told what you can do is wrong and against nature, it’ll take time to work through that. But once you do, and with proper training, you’re going to be amazing. Maybe you won’t even need a wand. It’s just a tool, after all. The magic is inside you, and you let it out when you made your way here.”

                    “I let it out?”

                  “Yes, you—” Percival cuts himself off as he realises that telling Credence he destroyed half the city might be proof of his magic, but it’s not exactly good proof. He tries to phrase it differently. “You used…wandless magic. Very powerful wandless magic. I know you haven’t had much reason to trust people, but will you trust me when I say you can do magic, and I’ll be here if you to teach you if you want?”

              Credence takes his face out of his hands, trying to gauge Percival’s sincerity, but he can’t keep his eyes on Percival’s face long enough to read his expression. Eventually, Percival bridges the short distance between them with his hands, cupping Credence’s face and holding it in place. “Trust me.”

                   At long last, Credence’s eyes lock on Percival’s, and he gives a tiny nod. The tendrils of smoke vanish, and from behind them, Newt gives a tiny sigh of relief. Percival knows he should probably let go of Credence, but finds himself wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Which is a completely inappropriate thought, considering everything that has happened and how much younger than him Credence is, but it’s there all the same. Is there a way to express “I’m glad you’re not dead” through a kiss?

                 Just as Percival is thinking this, footsteps thunder down the tracks, and he lets go of Credence and jumps to his feet. Newt and Tina are already standing in defensive positions, wands drawn. Percival knows he has to get in front of them; the Aurors might recognise Tina but Newt is a stranger and they might think he is responsible and attack him. Before he can move, though, Newt and Tina are already collapsing to the ground, hands bound behind their backs. He instinctively draws nearer to Credence, shielding him. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth, but this costs him the few seconds he needs to defend himself. Instead, his wand flies out of his hand, and he finds himself facing the entire squad of Aurors led by Sera.

* * *

                “Director Graves,” Sera says coolly, and Percival can tell, through the use of his formal title, that she’s not joking around. “I wondered what happened when you didn’t show up at the office to lead the Aurors. You left work early too.”

                  _Yeah, to see Credence._ But of course he doesn’t say that. “Madame President,” he says instead, inclining his head slightly. “Technically I left at six-thirty, so it was already after work hours. Surely you’re not going to lecture me for wanting to have a healthy work-life balance?”

                  Sera ignores this. She waves a hand, and the Aurors surge forward. Some head for Newt and Tina, a second group for him, and a third group—Percival’s blood runs cold when he sees them move behind him—for Credence. “No, don’t—!”

                  Percival’s own hands are bound behind his back, and there is a click as a pair of handcuffs slide into place. These cuffs have been enhanced to make the person wearing them too weak to use magic, and are usually only placed on criminals deemed a huge threat. It makes sense that they would put these on him. Craning his neck as the Aurors start to escort him to the exit, he sees that all of them, Credence included, are wearing the cuffs. He feels bad for Newt and Tina, who have gotten entangled in this mess out of their concern for Credence, but most of all, he is worried about Credence. What are they going to do to him when they find out he’s the source of all the destruction? The cuffs restrict all forms of magic, so even Credence’s brand of erratic, uncontrollable magic is out. He wouldn’t be able to transform or run away. Not that he could run, even if he wanted to—now that they have identified him, they’ll probably shoot to kill the next time they see him. Credence won’t be able to answer any questions when he barely understands anything about magic, and from the sound of it, he doesn’t remember the things he does when in Obscurus form. An interrogation will just traumatise him even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this entire story was inspired by an anime movie, I'm taking the opportunity to let my inner weeaboo out. Music always gets me in the mood to write or draw and inspires me...  
> [Sarishinohara (English cover) by Aruvn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44ngldqWxdg)  
> [Aka Ito by Rib](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WQNNTnTAdY)
> 
> Maybe i should just create a dang playlist at the end of it all.


	9. Chapter 9

           Percival isn’t sure of the type of charms that have been used to allow MACUSA headquarters to fit into the space of the Woolworth Building—possibly an Undetectable Extension Charm, or maybe the building is simply large enough to accommodate the various departments. But he is quite sure that the No-Maj who built it didn’t include underground cells as part of their blueprint. The Aurors need a place to keep criminals until paperwork is processed, trial dates are set and transfers to jails in other parts of the country can be arranged—all the little bureaucratic details that keep their department busy long after an arrest has been made. He never thought he would be entering the cells as a criminal.

           He, Newt and Tina are bundled into a cell. Percival knows there’s definitely enough space down here to give each of them their own cell, so he assumes they’re being put in the same place because it’s temporary. He and Tina are both familiar with the procedure—an Auror will come by to interrogate them, take down their statements and determine if there’s a need for a trial. They’ll be stuck here until a trial date is set, which could be a matter of days or months depending on how clogged up the system is. He doubts they will be transferred elsewhere, since both he and Tina work here and the idea that two MACUSA employees, one a former Auror and the other Director of Magical Security, were involved in aiding and abetting the destruction of New York City is scandalous enough that MACUSA will want to keep them at the scene of the crime, so to speak. But Credence is separated from them, and watching the Aurors lead him away, Percival can’t contain his emotions. “Don’t hurt him! He didn’t know what he was doing! He’s an Obscurial!”

            The Aurors are too polite to bang on the bars and ask Percival to shut up—he _is_ their boss, after all. But they ignore him, and even when Tina and Newt chime in to agree with Percival, all they get is resounding silence. Eventually, Tina subsides, her eyes brimming with tears. Newt turns to face the wall, mumbling something about how it’s long past feeding time for his beasts and how worried they must be that Mummy isn’t here. Percival leans back against the wall of the cell, staring at the ceiling and wishing he could turn back time and offer to take Credence away when he met him outside the church.

              Eventually, an Auror appears outside the cell, shuffling his feet. “Director. I’m here to take you for your, um, interrogation.”

            Newt swings his head around to look at the Auror. “That boy is an Obscurial. It’s not his fault he turned out that way. I managed to remove the Obscurus from a girl I met on my travels and I think he’s strong enough to withstand the separation process. If you people would just give me a chance to examine him…”

              Tina jumps in. “He’s scared and hurt! He doesn’t need to be interrogated, he needs help! Give Newt a chance to examine him.”

              The Auror looks even more uncomfortable. “I’m just here for the Director…”

             “Listen to them,” Percival pleads. “They managed to calm him down enough to get him to return to human form. Credence didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He doesn’t have any control over the Obscurus, but if Newt knows how to remove it, he’ll just be a normal person afterwards. And he’s got a lot of potential—”

              Newt interrupts. “Yes, he has a lot of potential. Do you know how old that girl I met was? She was only eight. Most Obscurials don’t live past the age of ten, and that boy has to be a lot older than that. If he learns how to control his magic, he could be amazing. He shouldn’t be punished for circumstances beyond his control. He—”

              “What’s taking so long?”

            Sera storms up behind the Auror, scowling at them. The Auror looks terrified, but she just pulls out her wand and taps the lock, pulling the door open. “You’ll have time to talk during the interrogation, Director. Stop distracting the Aurors from their work.” She grabs Percival and steers him down the corridor to the interrogation room. Percival finds himself looking in each of the cells they pass for Credence, but doesn’t spot him anywhere. He assumes the worst. “Did you execute him already? Because that’s completely out of line, Sera. We have a court system in place for a reason and even as President, you don’t have the authority to summarily order executions like that. He doesn’t deserve to die just because he’s got an Obscurus inside of him.”

               “Percy, please. I’m not a tyrant. He’s not dead. Yet.”

               This is hardly the reassurance Percival seeks, but they have reached the interrogation room. Sera deposits him in a chair and takes a seat across from him. She pulls out a quill and parchment, taps the quill with her wand, and it starts to take notes. “What were you doing with the criminal in the subway station?”

             Percival suppresses an impatient sigh. “He’s not a criminal. Yes, he was the one behind all the destruction, but it’s not his fault. He’s got an Obscurus inside of him, and he lost control of it.”

                “Why do you keep talking about an Obscurus? There haven’t been any documented cases in ages.”

             “Because it’s _true_. He has trouble performing magic, because he’s been raised to see it as an abomination and punished any time he so much as does something that seems odd. So he repressed it. I thought he might be a Squib, but he’s magical. And we failed to help him even though our office keeps tabs on his family.”

                 Sera pulls out another piece of paper and consults it. “I understand this is the boy whose mother Goldstein attacked?”

              “ _Yes._ But she’s not his real mother. Based on what he told me, his real mother might have been magical. That’s probably where he inherited his powers from.”

                “How long have you been in contact with this boy?”

            “We—”Percival is about to say that he and Credence had been exchanging messages and even lives for at least a week, before realising how insane it sounds. Tina hadn’t believed him when he’d approached her in Credence’s body, back when he had been worried about Credence making use of the swaps to leak information about MACUSA to his mother. Sera will probably think he’s trying to mislead her on purpose. “We met for the first time today.”

               “And you were already motivated enough to throw yourself in front of him to prevent him from being arrested.” Sera looks impassively at him. “I’ve known you for years, and you’ve never struck me as the chivalrous, knight in shining armour type.”

                 Percival ignores this, knowing she is trying to goad him. But if she doesn’t believe Credence is an Obscurial, what does she think he is?

              "You’ve been acting strangely since the day I dropped by to get your signature.” Sera switches tacks abruptly. “I thought it was a Confundus Charm, but I’m starting to wonder if it might be something stronger.”

                 “What do you mean?”

              “Maybe you’re reacting to a badly-cast Imperius Curse. Whoever put it on you seems to be having a lot of trouble controlling your actions. It would explain why you’ve been behaving so erratically, and why you would try to protect someone you’ve only just met.”

              “This is the most ridiculous theory I’ve ever heard.” Percival wants to throw up his hands in exasperation, but they’re still secured by the handcuffs. “Who the hell is supposed to have put the Imperius Curse on me?”

               “The boy, of course. When you were investigating previous instances of the attacks. I’m still trying to figure out his full motives, but his attacks on the city are straightforward enough. He wants to find out MACUSA’s response time to crises, and he believes Imperiusing you will allow him to control the investigation from within. The main question is, is he doing this because he wants to destabilise our current administration by fanning discontent among the magical population who have to live in fear of random attacks, or does he want to provoke full-out war between us and the No-Maj?”

            Percival remembers how, the very first time he and Credence had swapped bodies, he’d thought the Scourers might have been working together with wizards to overthrow MACUSA. Now, having experienced firsthand the depth of hatred Mary Lou harbours towards magical people, he is sure she would rather wade through a lake of fire than work together with them. “That’s impossible. Even if there are wizards seeking to overthrow MACUSA, the Scourers would never agree to work with them. Besides, Credence can’t even cast a simple Levitation Charm without setting the object on fire, much less an Imperius Curse.”

                “I thought you said he was an Obscurial?”

               “Well, yes, but he has trouble casting simple spells because he’s grown so used to repressing magic that he has difficulty channelling it through a wand. It explodes out of him when he’s feeling upset or angry. But that’s not his fault!”

             Sera sighs. “Percy, even if you’re not Imperiused, you’re letting emotions get the better of you. Today, we finally made a breakthrough in this case and managed to catch the perpetrator. But now you’re spinning all these farfetched tales of Obscurials in order to get the boy off the hook. You know his background. The Scourers have been quiet for a long time, but this could be their big plan to expose magical society by getting one of their members to stir up chaos and infiltrate MACUSA. I don’t know why you have such strong feelings for this boy, but whatever he’s told you, he’s not innocent. He’s caused untold damage to the city on more than one occasion, injured people when he brought down those buildings and most of all, everything he’s done threatens to expose our society. We can’t let this go.”

              “I’m not just saying he’s an Obscurial to get him off the hook! I watched him go off in front of my eyes. He’s not doing this as part of some grand plan. The Scourers don’t _have_ a grand plan. The Obscurus formed precisely because the only thing he’s learned all his life is how bad magic is and how bad he is for having it. Besides, the Scourers have a history of weeding out magical children in their families so they can blend into No-Maj society. They would never consider using a magical child as a weapon. The reason his mother hates him so much is because he’s magical, but Tina and I both thought he was No-Maj because he repressed his powers for so long he appeared to be one.”

                “What was Goldstein doing there, anyway? Isn’t she supposed to be over in Wand Permits?”

                “She’s always been concerned about Credence. The man with her is a magizoologist who has experience with Obscurials, and we were hoping to talk him down before more people got hurt. He said he could try to remove it. Please let Newt try, and don’t hurt Credence. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

                There is a long moment of silence as the quill jots down the last of Percival’s words, then falls back onto the table. Percival looks straight at Sera, trying to figure out her thoughts. She may be political-minded, like Art has always accused her of being, but she _does_ have a heart. Surely she can see through all the complicated theories of political machinations and security threats to the heart of the issue, which is that of human suffering? It has nothing to do with how he feels about Credence; Credence’s past experience with human interactions are far too negative for him to see Percival as any more than the person who had turned his life upside down with the switching and the magic. The switching is completely beyond Percival, who still doesn’t understand why it started and then abruptly stopped. But if there’s one good thing that’s come out of this whole mess, Credence will finally be able to escape from his family and start a life where he doesn’t need to deny his true nature. That is, if Sera doesn’t decide he’s part of some huge conspiracy and rule that he needs to be tried for it.

              "I’ll want the Aurors to interrogate Goldstein and that magizoologist about the circumstances that led to the development of an Obscurus, and how to remove it.”

                  Percival heaves a sigh of relief.

                 “I’ll also want the boy to answer some questions under Veritaserum.”

                  Percival opens his mouth to protest.

              “It’s just a formality, to make sure he really doesn’t have any links to rebellious elements or other Scourers. Besides, you said he’s been repressing his magic, right? We need to know if he wants to be a part of this society in the first place, given how he’s been raised.”

              “He’ll want to be a part of our society. I’ll take him in, if he doesn’t want to go to Ilvermorny. Can I just tell him what to expect under Veritaserum? He doesn’t know anything about the magical world, after all.”

                “Fine.” Sera gets up from her seat and speaks to the Aurors outside the room. She turns back to him. “They’re bringing him here. You might want to tidy yourself up.”

               “I don’t need to tidy myself up,” Percival snaps at her, but even as he speaks, his hands are straining against the cuffs. Sera smirks at him. “I knew it. Sorry, Percy. I’m going to need to keep those on until all the interrogations are done. But I’ll give you two some time alone.” She slips out of the room, leaving him scowling at the door.

* * *

                   The scowl abruptly fades as the door cracks open, revealing two Aurors and Credence. The Aurors must have received Sera’s instructions to leave them alone, because the moment Credence is seated in the chair, they leave. Percival is suddenly acutely aware that the only thing separating them is a small table. His heart is pounding in his throat and he is glad his hands are still restrained, otherwise he would be running them all over Credence’s body, just to make sure he exists in a solid form instead of the nebulous black smoke of the Obscurus.

                   “Mr. Graves?”

                    Percival jumps, and realises he has been staring intensely at Credence the whole time. No wonder Credence is looking slightly creeped out. He coughs, hoping he sounds normal when he speaks. “Did they hurt you?”

                    Credence shakes his head, the exact same answer he had given when Percival had asked him this question in reference to Mary Lou. But he adds, “I’ve just been in a cell this whole time.”

                   Percival is relieved to hear that. “Me too. Newt and Tina are in the same cell, but they’re going to interrogate them next. Newt’s going to try to convince the Aurors and the President to let him work on removing your Obscurus.”

                   Credence frowns slightly. “I don’t quite understand.”

               “Remember how I said you could perform magic, but you’ve been subconsciously holding back? The Obscurus is what formed inside of you because you’ve been repressing your magic. I have to be honest with you, the wandless magic I said you did was actually your Obscurus bursting out. It’s a destructive power, that’s why everyone was so worried. Do you remember what happened before we caught up with you in the subway station?”

                    “No.”

                  “You destroyed a bunch of buildings and things with your Obscurus. It’s happened in the past before; that was one of the things my department was investigating because we didn’t know what was causing it. Don’t be upset, though,” Percival adds hastily when he sees Credence about to open his mouth. “It’s not your fault you developed an Obscurus, and nobody died. What the President wants to do now is ask you a few questions under a potion called Veritaserum. It’s a truth potion, so you won’t be able to lie under its influence. She just wants to know a few things about your life, your family’s connections to other anti-wizard organisations and if you remember anything when the Obscurus runs wild.”

                    Credence’s eyes had widened when Percival mentioned not being able to lie under Veritaserum, and he seems to shrink into himself even more at the mention of questions about his life. “You already know about my life.”

                  Percival tries to put himself in Credence’s shoes. The idea of a truth serum and not being able to control what comes out of one’s mouth under its influence is intimidating enough to most witches and wizards. “I experienced your life, yes. But my testimony and Tina’s won’t be enough. There are certain…political issues regarding your adoptive family. I’ll explain it all to you another time, or you’ll learn about it in History of Magic at Ilvermorny. But it’s going to be fine. I know your family isn’t involved in any political circles that our government is concerned about. You just have to answer truthfully that you don’t know anything.”

                    Credence continues to look like he has something to say, but doesn’t dare to put it in words for fear of being punished for talking back. Eventually, with his gaze trained on the table, he mumbles something that sounds like, “I don’t want to talk about my life.”

                  _Of course._ The details of the abuse he had suffered might be relevant to what MACUSA wants to know about life as a Scourer, but they would be extremely painful to recount, especially under the influence of a truth serum. Credence deserves to have some privacy. “I’ll ask them not to ask you probing questions about how she treated you. But we need to know things like what your mother knows about our society and things about the Obscurus itself. I’m not sure how much Newt and Tina have told you, but developing an Obscurus these days is very rare, and surviving as long as you have with one inside you is even rarer. Newt is being questioned about how to prevent this from happening again and how to remove it. Your testimony as an Obscurial would help greatly.” The part of Percival that has slowly grown to care for Credence and would do anything to fight off the monsters that have plagued his life for so long aches at the prospect of subjecting him to a magic-induced soul-baring session. But the pragmatic, political-minded part of him understands the need for questioning. They have never dealt with a case like Credence before, and given his background, they need to show that they have checked every box in ensuring that he isn’t a threat before he can be accepted into magical society.

                 Credence stares at the table in silence. Percival thinks he must be used to keeping his face impassive, because even with his experience in reading expressions and body language, Percival can’t tell what Credence is thinking. Finally, Credence says, in a tiny voice, “Can you be the one to do the questioning?”

                    Percival wishes he could give a different answer. “I’m afraid not. I’m not exactly an impartial third party in all this. My hands are tied. Well, cuffed, to be more precise.” The moment he says this, he wants to punch himself for making a stupid joke at a time like this. But Credence actually smiles a little, and that smile propels Percival out of his seat over to Credence, who looks up in surprise. Percival bends slightly so he can press his forehead to Credence’s. “You can do it. You’re brave. Besides, the truth will set you free.”

                    Credence laughs, and they are so close together that when he speaks, Percival can feel the warmth of Credence’s breath ghosting over his skin. “Do you read the Bible too, Mr. Graves?”

                     “No, I just listened really closely during _her_ sermons.” Percival can’t stop staring at Credence’s lips, which are just inches apart from his own. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest and his skin is burning up like he has a fever. He isn’t sure what possessed him to move to Credence like this, but he needs to get away now. Or he could always just lean down slightly and plant a kiss on those lips, isn’t that a lot easier?

                  The door swings open and Percival jumps away from Credence. Sera marches in, accompanied by two Aurors, and she is smirking in a way that suggests she knows exactly what she has just interrupted. Percival quickly leans over to whisper to her, “I need to ask you a favour before you start questioning him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fangirling about songs that inspire me in the endnotes again yeyy  
> [Sekai wa Koi ni Ochiteiru/The World is Falling in Love by Chico with Honeyworks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D52U3mPgGBo) (sappy love songs for Percy 2k17)  
> [Guilty Night, Guilty Kiss by Guilty Kiss](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQOh6DOt2Rs) (this sounds more appropriate for a smut chapter but i love Love Live so much ok)


	10. Chapter 10

           As someone well-acquainted with how long questioning and all the relevant administrative issues can take to sort out, everything proceeds a lot quicker than Percival could have hoped for. He isn’t allowed to sit in on Newt and Tina’s respective interrogations, but he isn’t brought back into the cell to wait either. Instead, he is escorted into an empty interrogation room where he alternates between dozing and thinking of the type of future Credence will pick. Will he opt to attend Ilvermorny, or will he choose to stay and learn under Percival? Is Percival even qualified to teach Credence? Where will Credence stay? He pictures Credence emerging from the guest room every morning, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Credence sitting across the dining table from him, eating food that’s not bland soup or stale bread. Credence smiling radiantly at him when he finally manages to cast a spell properly. These images are so pure and straightforward in their simplicity, his breath catches in his throat and he finds himself hoping Credence will choose to stay with him. Although—Percival’s heart sinks at the thought—he might prefer to stay with Tina. He likes Tina, and she had tried to help him when nobody else cared. He’s just the creepy old man Credence had the misfortune of swapping bodies with, and now that their lives are back to normal, there is no reason for Credence to want to see him again, especially since he has always wanted to attend a real school.

            Percival has almost convinced himself that he will never see Credence again, and is about to doze off again when the door swings open. Newt and Tina are standing there, hands free. The Auror accompanying them moves over to Percival and undoes his cuffs. The moment the cuffs stop touching his skin, the lethargy, which he had attributed to having spent the entire night chasing Credence around the city and being subjected to interrogation, vanishes. It is as though water is finally being allowed to flow through a valve which had been forcibly stopped up. He wonders if this is what repressed magic feels like.

            They follow the Auror along the labyrinth-like corridor to Credence’s cell. Credence looks exhausted, but even the removal of the cuffs don’t seem to perk him up at all. He ends up leaning into Percival as they make their way out of the underground cells, but Percival doesn’t care if he’s only doing it because he’s too tired to stand up on his own. He will treasure every bit of contact with Credence, since the boy will probably vanish from his life the next time he turns around.

            Sera is waiting for them by the exit. She asks Newt a few questions about when he thinks he’ll be ready to remove the Obscurus, then asks Tina if she would mind reporting back to the Auror Office starting from tomorrow (Percival doesn’t miss the way Tina’s face lights up when she hears this, and how she grips Newt’s hand). Percival snaps to attention when she turns to Credence and asks him what his plans are.

             “I don’t know,” Credence mumbles, looking at the floor.

             “Then I have a suggestion. Why don’t you stay with Percival until we can get the Obscurus out and have you registered with MACUSA? You can take the time to decide whether you would like to attend Ilvermorny or if you would prefer to learn on your own. Percival is a _great_ teacher.”

           Percival glares at her, registering the sarcasm in her appraisal of him as a great teacher and her ridiculous attempt to push them together. Yes, he had offered to take Credence in, but it’s still up to Credence whether or not to take up that offer. And why would he do that? Surely Tina would be a better fit to take care of him.

              “I don’t mind.”

             Percival’s jaw falls open. Credence looks up uncertainly, sees his expression and backtracks. “I mean, only if it’s okay with Mr. Graves. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

            “It’s no trouble at all! I was worried you wouldn’t want to stay with me, but you already know what my house looks like, so it’ll be a lot easier for you to settle in as well!” Percival doesn’t want Credence to think his presence would be a burden.

              “How would he know what your house looks like?” Tina asks, looking quizzical, and Percival realises his mistake.

              “It…looks like any normal house. That’s all.”

              Sera rolls her eyes. “Okay then. Go home, all of you. Mr. Scamander, I would like to be kept updated on when you plan to conduct the operation to remove the Obscurus. I’ve already sent an owl to your brother to let him know you’ll be in New York for a while.”

              “I didn’t want him to know where I was,” Newt protests.

              “Mr. Scamander, you were arrested by MACUSA just a few hours ago. Your brother was this close to starting an international incident. I had to let him know we’ve resolved it.”

               Newt sighs.

              “Try to get home without blowing up another building, will you?”

* * *

               “I’m going to Apparate us to my door. Hold tight to me, or you’ll get Splinched.”

               Credence looks confused. “Why can’t we just use the fireplace?”

            “Apparition’s faster.” Not to mention they would have to go up to Percival’s office, where the Aurors who aren’t clearing up the mess left behind by Credence are probably going to have a dozen questions for Percival. He had led Credence into an alley to Apparate, since MACUSA doesn’t allow people to Apparate or Disapparate within the building. This alley’s walls are also plastered with the Second Salemers’ anti-witchcraft posters, and seeing them causes Credence to remember something. “What about my sisters?”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I’m living with you, but they’re still…”

               Percival feels a twinge of guilt. He has forgotten all about the two girls. “Tina was talking about going to the No-Maj police. Your sisters aren’t magical, so they’re not within our jurisdiction.”

               “Will I ever be able to see them?”

            The answer is most definitely “no”, but Percival knows Credence’s sisters are probably the only things keeping him tied to the non-magical world. Sera might empathise with Credence, but she wouldn’t allow him to maintain contact with them, especially given his family background. He is trying to think of a way to break this to Credence tactfully, but Credence has already read the conflict in his expression and looks resigned. “Modesty’s going to think I abandoned her and ran away.”

             “There is a way to avoid that,” Percival says hesitantly. “I would be acting outside of orders, but I can put a Memory Charm on your sisters to make them forget you ever existed. I could also put one on your mother.”

               “Wizards can do that?”

            “We’ve had to do that a lot to make the No-Maj forget seeing things that are very obviously magical,” Percival explains. “But it’s not a perfect cure-all. Excessive use of this charm can permanently damage one’s brain, and in your case, I’m going to need to make them forget an entire lifetime of memories with you. They’ll probably spend the rest of their lives feeling like something is missing, but aren’t sure what it is.”

                Credence looks torn. “I can’t do that to my sisters. But Modesty is going to be so hurt thinking I left her behind.” He looks at the posters for a while, then seems to come to a decision. “Can you make Ma forget about how much she hates magic?”

                “Yes, I was thinking of doing that. She’s still a security threat, after all.”

                “Then go ahead and do the spell. Without that anger driving her, she might actually be a good mother to them.”

               Percival feels ashamed that he had only considered Mary Lou in terms of the threat she posed as a Scourer rather than the threat of abuse that Credence’s sisters would face now that he was gone. “I’ll do that, then. I’ll tell Tina too, so she won’t go to the No-Maj police. Do you want to come with me?”

             Credence shakes his head, and Percival makes to take his hand, planning to drop Credence off at his house before heading down to the church, but the expression on Credence’s face is reminiscent of the one he had worn earlier in the interrogation room, like he’s trying to summon the courage to say something. He waits for Credence to speak.

               “Mr. Graves?”

               “Yes?”

               “That law banning interaction between magical and non-magical people is really stupid.”

               Percival has spent his entire adult life working to uphold the laws of their society. He has his own problems with the finer points of certain laws, but has never considered challenging Rappaport’s Law. Now, faced with someone who has no choice but to sever ties with the only people he knows in this world in order to start living his new life, all the arguments he has trotted out in defence of the law seem weak and insipid. “I think so too,” he says quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already deviated from my vague outline quite a bit but i think i might be able to wrap this up with one or two more updates.  
> Slightly angstier songs this time!  
> [Again by Araki](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrnn9aUT2Ag)  
> [Echo by Kuraiinu and Dr. R](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yo6meUIFp9w)  
> [Loser (arrange ver) by Mafumafu](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnnsyjcFnjc)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, i [drew something based on this story](http://mozaik-roru.tumblr.com/post/165427700268/shameless-self-promotion-v2-im-in-the-midst-of):') it was a good chance to play around with colours.

        “…Potions is probably the most difficult subject you’ll learn at school. Since Hogwarts is out of the question, I would strongly recommend you to attend Ilvermorny. You won’t learn anything from Percy.”

          “What’s this now?” Percival stomps over to Credence, who is standing in front of Mal and Art’s portraits, his expression a mixture of awe and confusion. He has just gotten back from Obliviating Credence’s family, and he suspects Credence might have been right in his assessment that Mary Lou would be a good mother to Modesty and Chastity without her all-encompassing hatred of magic. As the spell took root, her expression had changed from angry to placid, and she had actually put an arm around Modesty, who had willingly snuggled into her embrace. Hopefully this wasn’t just the result of Obliviation. He suspects he’s going to behave just like Tina, nosing around their family to make sure things are all right. It might be too painful for Credence to see his sisters in person if they don’t remember him.

           “You could do to learn some manners from this boy,” Mal chides. “He doesn’t know anything about magic, but he’s so polite! If only there was a spell to make you behave more like him.”

             “I think the spell you’re looking for is the Imperius Curse,” Percival says dryly. “And don’t underestimate him, he has a lot of raw power. Once he’s learned how to control it, he’s going to be amazing.”

            “He seems like the sort that would be good at Potions.” Art studies Credence. “But there’s something about him that seems familiar to me. I feel like I’ve met him somewhere before.”

           “Me too,” Mal says. “It’s impossible, because these are our only portraits and we only ever get to talk to you and Sera. But  I feel like I’ve talked to him before.”

               Credence and Percival exchange a glance, and Percival rolls his eyes at the portraits. “You’re imagining things. Where would you have met him?”

             “Where did _you_ meet him?” Art shoots back. “I thought he was an intern from your workplace at first. But you would never bring interns home, he greeted me like he knew me, and he says he’s never been to school before. At his age? How is that possible?”

          “It’s a long story.” Percival starts to lead Credence away from the portraits. “He’s going to be staying here for a while. Don’t bother him with all your questions.”

              “We’ll just have to bother you instead, won’t we?”

* * *

             The tour of the house takes no time at all, since Credence already knows where the different rooms are. Percival moves him into the guest room, which Credence has apparently never set foot in before. The room is smaller than Percival’s but still comfortable enough and Credence doesn’t have any luggage to unpack, so he ends up standing uncertainly by the bed, mumbling his thanks. The silence between them grows, and Percival feels awkward and ungainly in his own body. Why did he think living under the same roof as the boy would be easy when he can barely control his thoughts around Credence as it is? Percival has to keep reminding himself that Credence’s entire world has just been upended. The only role he should be playing in Credence’s life is that of a kindly mentor, helping him get used to life outside of the Second Salem church. He shouldn’t expect Credence to feel the same connection to him, just because they’d swapped bodies a few times.

              Gradually, though, they fall into a routine. Percival grows used to eating meals prepared by Credence, who insists that this is the least he can do. Instead of staying late at work, he rushes home so the dinner Credence has prepared won’t go to waste. Credence grows used to having conversations over mealtimes instead of eating in silence, and listens attentively to Percival’s stories about Ilvermorny and the wizarding world. He still prefers to listen rather than talk, but occasionally he will ask a question about the professors or the houses, forcing Percival to dig deep into slightly fuzzy memories in order to answer his questions. Credence looks horrified when he explains that sorting is conducted in front of the entire school, then relieved when Percival says that since he is joining halfway through the semester, they will probably do it in private. Sometimes, they talk for so long that the empty dishes stay sitting next to them hours after they finish eating, until Percival remembers to cast cleaning spells and send them flying back to the kitchen. Sometimes they move to the study, where Percival works on things he brought back from the office while Credence reads books about magical theory; other times Percival clears a space for Credence to practice with his wand since he doesn’t have one of his own yet. Credence still ends up setting things on fire half the time, but he tells Percival he can feel the magic flowing through him, it just doesn’t come out right. Percival guesses that’s progress, and the first time Credence gets Wingardium Leviosa right, Percival swears his smile could light up the darkest night.

              One day, Percival opens the door to what sounds like a serious conversation. This in itself is hardly unusual, since Mal and Art like to talk to each other and sometimes to Credence, despite Percival’s repeated instructions to them not to bother him. But the voice, while familiar, doesn’t sound like any of the three of them. He finds Newt sitting on the couch talking to Credence. Newt jumps to his feet at the sight of Percival. “Mr. Graves. I came to tell Credence that I’ve finished making the preparations to remove his Obscurus. I can conduct the operation any time.”

                Percival glances at the battered suitcase by Newt’s feet, wondering what sort of tools Newt has brought for this. “Where are you planning to do this?”

                 Newt smiles slightly, then reaches down to undo the clasps on the suitcase. “Come on down. Plenty of room inside.”

                When neither of them move, Newt gives an impatient sigh and steps into the suitcase, drawing a gasp from Credence as the sound of him walking down stairs ring out. Percival himself is surprised—from the looks of it, Newt has put an Undetectable Extension Charm on the suitcase, so he theoretically wouldn’t even need a place to stay as long as no one disturbs the suitcase. He whispers to Credence, “It’s an Undetectable Extension Charm. Just walk inside like you would enter a room.”

            The inside of Newt’s suitcase far surpasses Percival’s expectations. Outside the tiny shack piled high with books and plants which serves as Newt’s workshop, it looks like Newt has plopped an entire safari inside his case, and that’s just what Percival can see of it. It should be a cold winter evening, but sunlight ripples through the leaves and a balmy breeze ruffles Percival’s hair. He thinks he hears the cries of animals in the distance, and the government official in him, which he suspects he will never be able to fully get rid of, wonders if Newt has a permit for all these animals. The other part, though, feels as awestruck as Credence looks.

               Newt pokes his head out of the door to call them back in. He explains that the procedure might take a while, so Percival is free to wander around the case. Tina is also inside, most likely with the Mooncalves. He recommends Percival leave his collar pins in the shack, because a creature he calls the Niffler is loose and it will most definitely try to snatch the pins to add to its collection unless Newt is here to guard them. But when he turns to ask Credence if he is ready, Credence blurts out, “Can I have some time alone with Mr. Graves?”

                 Percival is surprised. Credence hardly ever asks for favours. But Newt smiles understandingly and gestures them out of the shack, saying he’ll take the time to make sure everything is in order. Grass crunches under their feet as they walk, and Percival wonders what this is about when Credence comes to an abrupt halt. “Newt said there’s a chance I might not survive the operation with my magic intact.”

                  The temperature seems to drop several degrees. “But Newt said he thought you were strong enough to withstand the separation process, back when we had just been arrested.”

                  “He said the Obscurus is a parasite, and sometimes removing parasites damages the host as well. Especially in the case of the Obscurus, which feeds off my magic. Since his last subject died, he isn’t sure how the shock from the operation will affect my body, how the recovery process will be like, or how it’ll affect my magic. There are a lot of unknown factors in this.”

                 This is one of the longest sentences Credence has ever said to Percival, and it’s terrible news. Percival knew any operation came with risks, but he had never considered that removing the Obscurus might affect Credence’s magic. It made sense in a twisted way, because an Obscurus was the accumulation of years of repressed magic and a host’s body would eventually grow used to the presence of the parasite. But to have magic torn away from him just when Credence had finally become part of their world would be unbearable. He had already lost his sisters, would he lose his magic too?

                   Percival forces the words out. “Is there a chance of...learning to live with the Obscurus?”

               “I don’t think so. Newt mentioned that there are harmless and harmful parasites, and the Obscurus definitely counts as a harmful one. Besides, it’s a danger to people because I can’t control it, especially in a place as densely populated as New York City.”

                   _I’ll move with you to a remote forest on the edge of the planet if it means you’ll live._ The thought flits into Percival’s head, and he has to prevent himself from voicing it out because it just sounds creepy and wrong. This isn’t the sort of thing a kindly mentor would say to a protégé, especially one who is worried enough about losing his magic. He tries to put a positive spin on things. “Maybe removing the Obscurus will help your magic flow better as well, since it feeds off you.”

                “That’s what Newt said. I thought it sounded reasonable, because sometimes it feels like the spell I’m trying to perform gets sucked into a vacuum and lost on the way out. The operation is a risk, but I have no choice but to undergo it. It threatens too many people.”

                _Forget about other people, what about yourself?_ Percival is about to say this, but Credence suddenly looks him in the eye and the words die on his tongue. He can’t speak, can’t even remember his name. “If I die, Mr. Graves…”

                    _You’re not going to die. You can’t die._

“I just want you to know that…”

                    _Know what?_

“I’m really grateful for everything you’ve done. For exposing me to this world and trying to help me work through everything. I didn’t know all this was missing from my life until we started swapping places. Please don’t think badly of me for wanting to try this at least once, just in case…”

                 _I could never think badly of you_ , Percival wants to say, but Credence is moving closer to him and he feels like a satellite being drawn inexorably closer into the gravitational pull of a planet. Then Credence’s lips are clumsily moving against his own, but Percival couldn’t care less if he’s only doing this out of fear of death. A swarm of locusts could descend upon them like in a biblical plague, a comet could come crashing down and obliterate the two of them, and he would be glad to go like this, kissing Credence.

                Eventually, Credence pulls away and Percival’s arms, which have somehow loop themselves around Credence’s shoulders to hold him closer, fall back to his sides. Credence mutters something that sounds like an apology and makes to run back to the shed, but Percival has enough of his wits about him to grab him before he can get away. “Wait. Don’t die in there, okay? I’d like to do more of this once you’ve recovered.”

                Credence’s head jerks up and he blinks rapidly at Percival for a few seconds before he breaks into a radiant smile that Percival promptly captures to carry around like a talisman. “I’d like that, too.”


	12. Chapter 12

          Newt’s suitcase truly is a wonder. Percival’s eyes register this the way a person’s brain acknowledges that breathing is necessary for survival—something which is simply a given because all the evidence points to this conclusion. Newt seems to have divided the space into areas for his beasts and customised them to suit the creatures’ native habitats. As he walks, the temperature changes from mild to scorching, day gives way to night, and there is the sound of scurrying as the shyer creatures hide in their burrows. The bolder ones watch him from the shadows, on their guard because they can tell he’s not Newt. Percival recognises a few creatures from Care of Magical Creatures lessons long past and also because his office has had to deal with traffickers who intentionally create false scarcity and drive up prices of particular items like unicorn hair and Graphorn horns. Permits or not, Newt definitely isn’t a trafficker. The ones Percival’s office has nabbed have the creatures living in cramped, squalid conditions, where they are almost certainly mistreated in order to procure the necessary items. Newt has obviously taken great care to replicate their native habitats and make them comfortable. In some ways—Percival gives a bitter laugh at the thought—these animals are better taken care of than Credence ever was.

         He comes to an abrupt halt in an area where a full moon hangs in the sky over a rocky outcropping. A familiar figure stands in the middle of a group of alpaca-like creatures with huge eyes, tossing pellets at them. Tina’s sleeves are rolled up, and she giggles as the creatures jostle her in their haste to get to the food. Percival hangs back to watch, but the creatures register his presence and they swivel around, fixing their orb-like blue eyes on him. Tina looks surprised to see him, but then gestures him over. “Come on. They warm up to new people quickly as long as there’s food.”

            Percival joins Tina at the centre of the circle. Sure enough, they surge over to him the moment he dips his hand into the bucket of pellets, and before he can throw it, the creatures at the very front are already eating out of his hand. “What are these again?”

           “Mooncalves. They’re usually very shy, but most of this herd was born and raised exclusively within Newt’s case, so they’re used to someone coming round to feed them and aren’t as scared of humans.”

            “Have you been down here before?”

            “A few times. I met Newt when he was trying to get his Niffler back in the case. Most of the creatures are content to stay inside, but his Niffler is particularly adventurous and seems to feel the shiny objects he provides aren’t enough, so it often tries to break out. It’s hard to believe that such a small creature can cause more chaos and destruction than one of the bigger ones, like the Erumpent.”

           They feed the Mooncalves in silence for a few moments before Percival summons up the courage to say something that has been on his mind for a while. “I’m sorry, Tina.”

            Tina wrinkles her brow. “What for?”

          “For behaving by the book and demoting you instead of trying to understand why you did what you did. Maybe it’s because I’ve lived with Credence for a while now to see how deep the scars she’s left on him run, but I also feel we’ve let him and his sisters down by not acting sooner. We kept their family on surveillance, so it’s not like we were completely oblivious, but we felt we had no right to intervene since they were No-Maj and were worried about the repercussions of Obliviating a family of Scourers, who might grow suspicious about gaps in their memory. Rappaport’s Law made sense back then, but I’m starting to think it might do more harm than good when it comes to protecting magical children raised in strict No-Maj families.”

           Tina surveys him for a while, ignoring the Mooncalves that are impatiently nudging her hand for more food. Finally, she speaks. “Didn’t you tell me there was no need to go to the No-Maj police anymore because everything’s been settled?”

            Percival nods. He had told Tina this off the record, because they technically didn’t have any more business with the Scourers now that Credence had been removed from the family. If Percival hadn’t Obliviated them, they would have remained a low-priority surveillance case, since Mary Lou would certainly have continued spreading anti-witchcraft messages with her remaining two children. As Percival had told Credence, Obliviation wasn’t a perfect solution because it could cause brain damage if used on the same subject repeatedly. An added complication was the fact that the Scourers were aware of the existence of Memory Charms. Over the years, this awareness had changed from understanding the theory of how the spell worked to a vague suspicion that any sudden gaps in one’s memory was probably the work of a witch, but it was still dangerous enough that the Auror Office couldn’t afford to Obliviate the Scourers, and preferred to keep magical activity suppressed so they wouldn’t have to resort to using the spell on the No-Maj population. Percival had taken a risk in choosing to Obliviate them, particularly Mary Lou, but he had checked on the family a few times since then and was relieved to note that none of them seemed to remember Credence. He was sure that even with his assurance, Tina had also checked on their family to make sure everything was really all right and Mary Lou wasn’t mistreating her other children.

              “You did something to them, didn’t you?”

            “No comment.” Percival wipes his hands, which are covered in Mooncalf spit and pellet crumbs, on his trousers, then grimaces as he realises what he’s done.

               “I’m not going to tell on you, you know.”

             “No comment.”

             “Fine.” Tina pats the head of one of the Mooncalves and walks to one of the rocks, the empty bucket dangling from one hand. Percival follows her, and they both look up at the full moon. “You’ve changed, Director.”

             “No, I haven’t.” Sure, Percival has made adjustments to his routine so he can get home earlier, but there are still some nights he can’t take work home, and he ends up staying in the office, feeling bad as he pictures Credence eating alone at the dining table and shifting things around the study by hand so he can practice spells.

            “It’s not a bad thing. In the past, I got the feeling you carried out your duties—directing the Aurors, clamping down on criminals—out of obligation. Since you’d worked your way up to the position, you had to do what was expected of you. But now you’ve found someone to fight for.”

           Percival considers her words. Tina isn’t entirely correct in her assessment—his family has always been influential in political circles, so his ascension to Director of Magical Security, essentially second-in-command to the President, might be seen as expected, though some of his more outspoken ancestors have questioned why he didn’t aim for the top. Staying a part of the Auror Office allows him to be involved in maintaining law and order, and knowing that the Aurors trust him to direct tricky cases gives him a sense of pride. He enjoys his job, and if he feels obligated to anything, it is to uphold the laws that wizards before him have written to keep their community safe. Naturally, a high position came with its share of tedious paperwork, which was why he had to manage his time and had chosen to focus on the higher-priority cases. Even when Tina’s actions came to light, Credence’s name and face hadn’t left more than a vague impression on his consciousness. Percival couldn’t believe it had taken a body swap and a chance to walk in Credence’s too-small shoes for him to empathise with the boy. But Tina was right in saying he had found someone to fight for. He had always thought of her impulsive idealism as a product of youth, something that would fade the longer she stayed in this line of work, but maybe this was what it meant to be an Auror.

              “I’ve always been fighting for the safety of our society,” he corrects her.

              “Yes, but that’s an abstract concept. Now you can attach a name and face to the mass of people our office keeps safe. Even though you didn’t think he was part of our society at first.”

           Percival can’t help remembering how he had completely forgotten to account for Chastity and Modesty after Credence had agreed to live with him. He wonders if this is another reflection of his prejudice towards non-magical people, that their problems are somehow less important. If it had turned out Credence wasn’t the Obscurial, would he have tried to help Credence out? Or would he have left Credence in that house? He may have been doing this much longer than Tina, but she has a better understanding of what she’s fighting for and the values she strives to uphold.

             “It’s about time Credence had someone on his side.” Tina looks up at the moon as she speaks. “I think you’re just the right person to help ease him into our world. It’s like he had a connection with you even before you met face to face in the subway.”

               The whole body swapping thing is too complicated for Percival to get into. “What house do you think he’d be in?” He still can’t tell if Credence plans to go to Ilvermorny or not. The subject has never come up in all of their conversations; or at least, Percival doesn’t want to ask him directly. There is a part of him that selfishly wants to keep Credence by his side, but he knows it wouldn’t be fair to the boy. Even if he manages to hire the best tutors, they won’t be able to provide Credence with the experience of being around other young witches and wizards. He has already spent most of his life in a tiny bubble. It wouldn’t be fair to keep him closeted away.

                “I want to say Thunderbird, but honestly, I think he would make a better Wampus. Is he going to Ilvermorny after all?”

                “I don’t know. Maybe.” They lapse into silence after that.

* * *

               Newt hadn’t told Percival how long the operation would take, and Percival doesn’t want to barge in on them and ruin his concentration, so he lets Tina lead him around the suitcase, introducing him to Newt’s creatures. Percival visits the Occamies in their nest, views Newt’s Runespoors from a distance and tries not to take it personally when Tina tells him he will probably never get to see the Demiguise because Dougal doesn’t take well to scary-looking men. Because day and night coexist in Newt’s suitcase, he has no idea how long they have been down here or what time it is. Since the suitcase is lying on the floor of Percival’s house, he can technically climb out and climb into his own bed, but he wants to wait around so he can rush straight to Credence after the operation ends instead of waiting for Newt to fetch him. Tina nods understandingly when he turns down her suggestion of climbing out of the suitcase to get some rest, and tells him that tomorrow is still a weekday so she’s going home to rest. Percival has never felt less interested in work in his life. He is reminded of the time he had been stuck at home after the swapping had stopped, left with nothing to do but worry about whether something had happened to Credence. He had longed to be allowed back to work, just to have something to do. But now that he knows Credence’s life—and magic— are hanging in the balance down here in Newt’s suitcase, it feels wrong to go back to his life as though a piece of his heart isn’t lying in that little shed. He mutters prayers—to Credence’s God, to whoever or whatever caused them to start switching places, to any divine being that cares to listen, really—that Credence’s magic will remain intact. He would gladly take the pain of separation when Credence leaves for Ilvermorny than to have Credence suffer the pain of not being able to do magic after the Obscurus has been removed.

* * *

              Percival is wandering aimlessly around the suitcase when he spots an area that seems out of place. Unlike the rest of the terrains, which segue naturally into one another even if their climates and landscapes are vastly different, there is a gap in Newt’s magic which causes this area to shimmer and flutter slightly as if stirred by a non-existent breeze. It has to be intentional considering how much care Newt has put into designing everything else. Percival approaches the spot and touches it, surprised when he is able to part it like a curtain. It reveals a snowy landscape, and the cold makes him shiver. Blinking snow out of his eyes, he spots a flash of reddish-brown hair and a long, thick blue coat that probably does a better job of keeping its owner warm than Percival’s own. Newt is holding his wand, and levitating what looks like a snow globe—if snow globes contained black, smoky substances that thrashed wildly against its container even without a curious hand to swirl it around. Squinting through the snow, Percival notices that Newt is sending the snow globe floating towards another remarkably similar-looking object. He has a feeling that he shouldn’t disturb Newt, but if Newt is here rather than with Credence, it must mean the operation is over. He strides soundlessly through the snow and taps Newt on the shoulder. “Newt?”

             Newt jumps and spins around. His usually ruddy face is pale and his eyes dart rapidly between the footprints Percival has left on his trek through the snow and the corners of Percival’s eyes. “Director! You shouldn’t be here. I didn’t even bring Tina in here when I showed her around.”

              “How’s Credence?”

            “Credence, Credence…” Percival’s heart sinks slightly at the way Newt’s body language seems to grow even more flustered. Is this just Newt’s normal display of uncomfortable behaviour when forced to interact with humans, or is he uncomfortable because he doesn’t have good news to share? “He’s sleeping. Let him wake up naturally. I put him to sleep with the venomous spit of a unique creature I met on my travels in Belorussia. Do you know the people there use it as a means of getting babies to sleep through the night? But because they weren’t always aware of how to distil the venom from the spit properly, they sometimes unintentionally murdered the babies or caused them to go into a long coma that could only be ended by rubbing the spit—”

             “Newt,” Percival interrupts, feeling bad for tearing Newt away from a topic he is obviously passionate about but in desperate need of assurance, “Is Credence okay?”

                 “He’s fine,” Newt says, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Just sleeping it off, you know, I had to put him to sleep in order to work on extracting the Obscurus.”

                 “Is that the Obscurus?” Percival glances at the smoky black thing, which seems to sense his gaze and throws itself against its prison with renewed vigour. The centre of the smoky mass appears to be glowing white, just like Credence’s eyes before he went off.

                “Yes,” Newt replies, and Percival senses a subtle change in his bearing upon being questioned about creatures rather than humans. Newt stands a little taller, and the nervous twist of his fingers stops. “It feeds off its host’s magic, you see, so it can’t survive on its own for long. I’ve isolated it because it might be drawn to my creatures’ magic and try to latch on to them instead. The other one,” he gestures at the second globe, “belonged to the girl from Sudan.”

               Percival tries to compare the two. Both the girl’s Obscurus and Credence’s look the same at first glance, like slightly more solid forms of smoke struggling to break free from their containers. But on closer observation, he notices that Credence’s Obscurus seems to be putting up a stronger fight, and Newt appears to have put more reinforcing spells on its container. This is what has built up inside Credence over the years. Percival has a mad urge to blast the Obscurus into a million pieces.

               “There’s no point in doing that,” Newt says, as though reading Percival’s mind. “Like I said, it’s harmless without a host. My main aim is to prevent it from affecting my creatures. That’s why I keep it in here, encased in a container as an additional layer of protection.”

                “But what if it gets out? Wouldn’t it be better to kill it?”

                Newt pins him with a firm gaze. “No. The Obscurus was born through no fault of its own. If you want to blame someone, blame the person whose actions created it.”

           The pragmatic wizard in Percival, whose voice was crucial in helping him ascend the ranks of MACUSA, feels the stirrings of impatience at Newt’s sentimentality towards a magical parasite that has caused untold trouble for his department in the past months. But a new part of him, whose voice he is finding harder and harder to ignore, senses the logic behind Newt’s words. He has never blamed Credence for the Obscurus, but as time passes, he can’t help feeling that MACUSA’s laws were complicit in nurturing it. Credence and his family were assumed to be non-magical, so thanks to Rappaport’s Law, there was no reason for them to get involved. Even the idea of surveillance was aimed at ensuring the Scourers weren’t planning anything which would hurt the magical community. It wasn’t any of their business how the Scourers raised their children, as Tina had found out the hard way. But it had ended up being their business after all. Percival suddenly feels like there is a similar writhing black mass inside him, a mixture of guilt and anger eating away at his insides like acid. “Our lack of actions contributed to this too,” he says softly.

                 Newt shrugs. “I won’t deny that your ridiculous laws do make it harder to ensure that Muggleborn children receive the necessary protection. But laws can be changed, even if they have to go through onerous rounds of debate. Merlin knows I’ve been lobbying the Ministry of Magic for proper laws regarding cross-breeding of creatures, because wizards abandon them the moment they realise these creatures are too hard to care for—” A loud cry causes Newt’s head to snap in the direction of the curtain opening, where a faint stream of sunlight is falling on the snow. “Please excuse me. The Niffler’s made its way into the Fwooper’s enclosure, and they might drive each other insane if I don’t separate them.” He plows through the snow, pulls aside the curtain and vanishes.

              Percival casts one last look at the Obscurus, decides it isn’t worth standing around here with only his dark thoughts for company and starts to move towards the exit, to warmer temperatures and Credence.

* * *

               In all the time Credence has been living in his house, Percival has never seen him asleep. Percival wonders if this is related to the strict rules he was brought up with, which might have dictated that falling asleep in front of someone was impolite. Even when they work late into the night in the study, Credence usually excuses himself, returning whatever book he has been reading to its proper place on the shelf before slipping out of the room. If it weren’t for the delicious meals he comes home to every night or occasionally looking up from his work to find Credence hunched over a thick spellbook, Percival might have a hard time believing he has a housemate. Credence is just that quiet. Driven by morbid curiosity, sheer boredom and maybe even a voyeuristic desire to look at Credence as much as he wants without worrying about having to tear his gaze away, Percival slips into the shack, pulling up a chair by Credence’s bed. Credence looks more peaceful than Percival has ever seen him. His chest rises and falls steadily, and his fringe, which is starting to grow out of that awful haircut his mother had forced on him, brushes the tops of his eyebrows. Percival personally hates having long hair—it gets in the way of his vision, which is why he keeps it slicked back with pomade, but he certainly isn’t going to try to tell Credence how to live his life. His gaze falls on Credence’s lips and a vision of the kiss they had shared shoves its way to the forefront of his mind. Would Credence really be okay with more kissing after he wakes up? What if that was, as Percival had feared, just driven by his own worries about the outcome of the operation? What if he really loses his magic for good, and living with Percival just becomes a reminder of everything he can’t have? Will he want to move out? But where will he go?

                 The thoughts swirl around Percival’s head like black smoke, and he gets a shock when he looks into a pair of dark brown eyes, still slightly cloudy with sleep. “Mr. Graves?”

                  “You’re awake,” Percival says, trying to ignore the fact that his heart is threatening to burst out of his chest. He should call for Newt, should leave this to a professional who actually knows what he’s doing, but he is a selfish person and he wants to spin out this time alone with Credence just a little longer. “How do you feel?”

                 “Light,” Credence says, and Percival momentarily panics, wondering if the operation hasn’t addled him after all, when Credence extends a hand out of the blanket and points it at Newt’s work desk. A vial of something green flies past Percival’s cheek into his hand. “I feel like I could do almost any spell as long as I know the theory behind it.”

                 “You meant to Summon that vial?” This comes out sounding a touch too incredulous, but Percival can’t help remembering his very first lesson in wandless magic in Ilvermorny. The classroom had been full of people glaring down at their feathers, the spell spoken in increasingly desperate, louder tones as they struggled to get the feathers to hover even an inch above the scratched wooden desks. He remembers feeling like part of his arm is missing, and had thrown himself into mastering wandless magic in order not to experience this feeling of helplessness again. Credence has a lot of power, but he is untrained and half the time he casts spells with a wand, the object catches fire. How is it that he is able to do a perfect Summoning Charm on his first try? “Do it again.”

                    Credence sits up, and Percival has to resist the urge to reach out and pat down his hair, which is sticking up on one side. He cranes his neck at Newt’s desk, spots something and waves his hand. Something lands in the centre of his palm, and Percival sees his collar pins. “I guess my magic works fine.”

                    “That’s great,” Percival says sincerely. Come to think of it, Credence’s proficiency with wandless magic might be expected. He is just starting to release the magic he has spent his entire life repressing but has only ever had the chance to practice with Percival’s wand, which is loyal to Percival above all else. If Credence turns out to be a natural at wandless magic, the learning curve won’t be so steep for him when he goes to Ilvermorny, and they might be able to put him in more advanced classes straight away. He’ll have to pick out a wand after he gets Sorted, but if it turns out that he works better without a wand, well, that’s good for him, isn’t it? He’ll be able to fight back even if someone Disarms him. Percival can’t imagine Credence fighting, even though he privately hopes Tina is right and Credence will be Sorted into Wampus.

                  Credence floats the vial back to Newt’s desk, then leans forward, still holding Percival’s collar pins. His fingers brush against Percival’s neck as he fastens them back in place, and Percival is torn between enjoying the sensation of Credence’s fingers and throwing decorum to the winds, pulling Credence’s face up to his own and kissing him silly. But he isn’t sure his heart can handle the rejection if it turns out Credence wants to pretend nothing happened, so he just sits quietly, trying to prevent his traitorous hands from doing anything untoward.

                     “Since you can do wandless magic, they’ll probably let you attend sixth-year classes straight away,” Percival says, making a valiant effort to focus on the Ilvermorny curriculum instead of what he wishes he could do with Credence. “We only started learning wandless magic in sixth year, after we had all the basics down. You seem to be able to cast spells without saying the incantation as well, so they’ll be able to start you off on sixth-year classes at the very least. Non-verbal magic is introduced around the fifth or sixth year, I forgot which exactly. It usually takes a lot of practice, so being able to do a combination of non-verbal and wandless magic at the very start is impressive.”

                        “I’m not going to Ilvermorny.”

                     This is probably one of the only things, short of Credence kissing him again, that could cut Percival off mid-sentence. He blinks foolishly at Credence, who is, as usual, staring at a spot somewhere around Percival’s waist. “What?”

                    “You said I had a choice. I could go to Ilvermorny, or I could learn from you. I want to learn from you. If it’s okay with you, I mean. If you’re too busy with work, I don’t mind going to Ilvermorny.”

                   “I’d love to teach you,” Percival says hastily. “But I thought you’ve always wanted to go to school. And I’ll be away at work most of the time, so you might get lonely at home. Don’t you want to meet other young witches and wizards?” Even as he says this, an image of Credence being swept away by a pretty young witch or suave young wizard enters his mind, and he wishes he could take back those words.

                     “I don’t want to meet other witches or wizards,” Credence says in what Percival guesses is the firmest voice he can manage. He forces himself to look into Percival’s eyes. “I want to stay here with you. I think there’s a reason our paths crossed, and I don’t want to leave just when we’ve found each other.”

                    Percival remembers his own declaration to Credence, back in the subway, that he had been searching for him his entire life. He had tried to tell himself that letting Credence go to Ilvermorny was for the best, but if Credence himself didn’t want to go, what was the point of forcing him? He would just have to make sure Credence got the best possible magical education, with the best tutors he could afford. Meeting new people probably isn’t a big priority for Credence—he suspects this is a combination of both Credence’s upbringing and natural shyness. Credence is already older than all the other students, and if he goes to Ilvermorny, he’ll have to deal with questions like why he received his letter so late, is he perhaps a Squib whose powers manifested much later than expected? And wait, is his surname really Barebone? As in the _Scourer_ name? What’s a Scourer doing in Ilvermorny? The more Percival thinks about it, the more he feels Credence would do better under the guidance of private tutors instead of being heckled by a bunch of curious children. And of course, there’s the part of him that wants to keep Credence close by. “I’d like you to stay, if you’re really sure about it.”

                    “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” Credence moves closer to Percival, then closer still. Percival remembers telling Credence he wanted to do more kissing after the operation, and wonders if the time has come. When Credence’s lips meet his, his question is answered.

                   Percival wants to remember every second of time spent kissing Credence, but the only coherent thought he can form is _I can’t believe this is actually happening_. When Credence pulls away and nestles his head into the crook of Percival’s neck, he instinctively brings up a hand to caress Credence’s hair, marvelling at how they fit together like puzzle pieces. Maybe they really were meant to be together, like soulmates. If he closes his eyes, he can picture a long, glowing red thread winding around both of them, tying them together. 

                     “I’ll need to get you a Potions tutor,” Percival says into Credence’s hair. “Much as I hate to admit that Art’s right, it’s not my strongest subject.”

                     “That’s fine,” Credence replies. There is a smile in his voice. “We have all the time in the world to figure things out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand it's done. Thank you so, so much for giving this a chance--i really appreciate the encouraging comments, kudos and subscriptions m(__)m I went into this with a vague outline that changed as i wrote on, so i wasn't very sure where or how it would end myself.  
> I considered a smut chapter but my power levels aren't high enough to do it properly, so it ends here haha;; i guess this means i don't need to change the rating after all.  
> I created the [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLW7F4I3Ln6VsZFsQOn6Uhsqg37Sl8i-8q) , it's mostly anime and Vocaloid music because i'm a not-so-secret weeaboo. The Initial D music isn't a joke though, i love Eurobeat!


End file.
